Of Moonlight and Secrets
by Under-the-Willow3
Summary: Good things never last long. It's a lesson Remus Lupin learned fast and hard, and he never expected to be proved wrong. He knows what the world is - knows what he is - and he knows that eventually, the other shoe will drop. So he has rules; he keeps his head down, learns what he can, and never lets anyone find out the big secret. But the Marauders never were good at following rules
1. Of Idiots and Interruptions

**Chapter 1: Of Idiots and Interruptions**

 **Note: Thank you for checking out my fic; I hope you enjoy it. This is currently being cross-posted from AO3. While 9 chapters are currently written there, I will be staggering my posts on FFN. However, if you don't feel like waiting for updates, I encourage you to go there to read all that has been written so far. My AO3 username is BW_James_4100, and the work title is the same. Enjoy!**

 _No. God no. Please._ Please.

 _This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Not after everything. The_ _world couldn't be that cruel._

 _But Remus knew that was a lie._

 _The world had always been cruel to him._

 _He had been a fool to think that could ever change. To think that it ever would.  
_

* * *

 _Before._

Remus woke to a bang.

A loud, disruptive, obnoxious bang. Remus, shockingly, was not a fan of loud, disruptive, obnoxious bangs under the best of circumstances. He liked them even less when they had the unfortunate consequence of stealing away his rest and causing his sleep-addled brain to pump unwanted adrenaline through his limbs. Especially when this occurred all too early on a Saturday morning.

Saturdays were sleeping days.

However, having already spent the better part of a year and a half sharing a room with James Potter and Sirius Black, bangs had long-ago become a predominant presence in his life.

A great testament to this fact was that, after the initial shock that startled him awake, Remus merely groaned and slumped back into his warm pillows. It didn't even occur to him to check on his roommates' or dormitory's well-being; he knew that there was perhaps a ninety-nine percent likelihood that the source of the irritation was one of the idiots he roomed with. The minuscule chance that there was some serious danger behind the noise was, he decided, not nearly great enough to warrant getting out of bed.

Besides, the full moon was coming. Soon.

He needed all the rest he could get.

So he merely let his head bury itself in his pillow while he tried to tune out the shouts that had followed the bang, hoping they wouldn't last long.

No such luck.

In fact, what had started out as worried murmurs seemed to be growing in both volume and concern.

"Is that supposed to happen?"

"Oh, _yes_ Peter, ' _course_ it was supposed to happen. That's _definitely_ what James was trying to do. He _said_ he wanted to learn to transfigure some flowers to impress Evans, but he _really_ wanted to turn the floor into a bloody swamp, because who _wouldn't_ be impressed by _that?_ "

"Well you don't have to be a prat about it."

"Oh _I'm_ sorry. Our lovely dormitory looks like it's going to grow deadly goo and _eat_ us, but that doesn't make your question stupid, _noo_. It was a _logical_ inquiry. _My mistake, you bloody wanker."_

"Oi, would you two shut up? We have bigger problems here."

"Oh no, James, _I didn't realize."_

"Not the bloody time for your sarcasm, Siri-"

The last line was cut off by a strangled yelp. Then a frantic pause before-

"I think it's getting bigger, mate-"

" _We can see that, thanks,_ "

"Oh not good, not good!"

It was this, coupled by a frankly disturbing bubbling sound, that finally prodded a disgruntled Remus out of bed.

He shoved the scarlet hangings on his four-poster bed aside as he stuck out his rumpled hair and groggy face.

" _Oi! What the bloody hell is going on?"_

Then he froze. His amber eyes blinked once, twice, three times as they scanned the Gryffindor second year boys' dormitory and three of the said boys that inhabited it.

Boys who were currently also frozen in place, all scattered around the room as they stood or crouched on various pieces of furniture. The cause for this being, of course, the slimy green-grey goo bubbling up from the center of the floor. Goo that certainty didn't seem to be harmless, if it's noxious stench was anything to judge by, and which seemed to be spreading. The trio stared up at the interruption from their respective sanctuaries.

"Oh, sorry mate. Did we wake you?"

The question, complete with an awkward chuckle, came from a sheepish James Potter, who stood closest to the death goop. At another time, Remus might have found the image of him, precariously perched on his trunk while clad in his snitch-patterned pajamas with lopsided glasses nestled in his wild hair, comical. He might have, that is, if not for the aforementioned swamp of death that was slowly creeping closer and closer to Remus' bed.

" _What,"_ he seethed, " _Did you do?"_

"Heh, well, you see-"

Whatever James would have said was cut off by a particularly loud pop. The gazes of all four boys shot to the floor again, where the slime seemed to be moving faster.

Peter squeaked, and Sirius ordered, "Explain later. Fix _now_."

Wordless agreement shot through the group as they set about bombarding the strange substance with spells, praying one would succeed in banishing it from their room.

Two hours. It took the four of them _two hours_ to finish clearing the dormitory of the last of the slime.

It had been Remus who finally stopped its steady spread, and Sirius who had managed to clear it away.

By the time the last of it was gone, they were all exhausted, sweaty, and dirty. James in particular had managed to get some of the goo stuck in his already unmanageable hair.

They four of them slumped onto the ground, completely worn out.

"How," Remus wheezed, "did you mess up the spell that bloody bad."

From his heap on the floor, Peter nodded vigorously, while Sirius grunted in agreement.

James flushed red, muttering something about how it wasn't _his_ fault; the book's instructions had been unclear.

"But you were trying to make _flowers,_ " Peter whined. " _Flowers._ You could have killed us!"

At this Sirius let out a snort his mother definitely would have reprimanded him for.

"Please. Potter couldn't _kill_ anything. More likely his brain would have combusted out of pathetic pining for Evans, and he would have jumped into the slime himself."

James' scowl deepened.

"Oh, shut up you prat."

Sirius sat up; "I'll shut up when you stop being a prat, you prat."

The two boys glared at each other halfheartedly before Sirius cracked a lazy grin, eyes rolling in their sockets.

" _Flowers,_ Jamie. How do you mess up _flowers_ that bloody bad?"

And suddenly the panic of the last two hours became utterly hilarious. Sirius and Remus began to chuckle, then laugh, then roar, dissolving into throbbing laughs. James scowled a little while longer, until he could no longer hold back a sheepish grin, and even Peter let out a few weak chuckles.

Eventually the laughter began to subside. The boys washed away the worst of the slime (though there remained some in James' hair that no one bothered to tell him about), Sirius challenged James to a game of gobstones, and Peter stood eagerly at their side, ready to spectate. Remus, meanwhile, crept back to his bed, intent on milking a few more hours of blissful sleep before heading down for breakfast.

Not bothering to draw his hangings shut, he collapsed on top of his covers and shut his eyes - but not before catching one last bleary image of the dormitory, and of three laughing boys crowded together on a floor that, only two hours previously, had been enveloped in who-even-knew-what.

A sleepy smile drifted across Remus' face at the sight of the Gryffindors.

Of his friends.

 _Idiots,_ the werewolf thought fondly as he surrendered to oblivion.

 _Absolute bloody idiots, the lot of them._

 _God, I'm lucky._

But he wasn't lucky.

Remus had never been lucky, and his monthly disappearances, the myriad scars he concealed with glamour charms and long sleeves, his secrets and nightmares and lies were proof enough of that.

He was a fool to have forgotten.

He should have remembered, should have realized, should have known.

Luck was never on his side.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter**. **If you did (Or if you didn't), please consider reviewing! I'd love to hear what you think, and constructive criticism is always** **appreciated.**


	2. Of Consolations and Confrontations

**Chapter 2: Of Consolations and Confrontations**

 **Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed on the last chapter! Just in case there's still any confusion, this is an in-progress fic of which I have already written 9 chapters. Everything I have written so far has already been posted to AO3 under my account there: BW_James_4100. I am transferring those chapters here, but am staggering the updates. Once I get up to date here, posts on both websites will come as the story is written. Until then, if you don't feel like waiting for me to post here, feel free to head over to my AO3 account! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

So James had been an idiot again and almost destroyed their dormitory while trying to make _flowers,_ of all things.

Not exactly revolutionary news, but sometimes even Sirius was surprised by the true extent of it. The lengths he went to try and impress Evans, honestly. At least his misguided attempts could usually be counted on for a laugh.

Like right now, for instance. The four of them had just come back from dinner and were studying in the common room. (The term _studying_ has a loose application here.)

"Remus. Oi, Remus, get a load of Jamie."

He nudged the sandy-haired wizard's shoulder (Remus being the only one who was _actually_ studying), trying to get him to look up from his book and witness the inevitable train wreck that was happening across the common room. James had pranced up to Evans and a group of her friends and was trying to impress them with a dramatic retelling of that morning's events. Of course, in this version, the swamp's origin was suspiciously excluded, and James had been the solitary savior, selflessly batting a goo-monster while Sirius, Remus, and Peter cowered in a corner. Evans, who had been writing a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay before James foolishly tried to elicit her admiration, did not seem amused by the interruption.

"Rem, Oi, pay attention! He's being a prat again; I think Evans is gonna snap- Remus?"

Sirius dragged his eyes away from James, who, in attempting to ruffle his hair, had finally discovered the patch of goo clinging to the back of head and was now blushing a furious red as he tried to spell it away (Evans was finally laughing - a snarky, biting laugh, mind you - but Sirius doubted James was too pleased about it).

He instead turned to Remus, who still hadn't looked up from his book. The reason for this, Sirius finally registered, was that sometime between their entrance into the common room and James making a fool of himself, Remus had fallen asleep.

Sirius let out a bark of a chuckle at the sight - Remus, slumped over a book thicker than Peter's skull, letting out soft snores, completely dead to the world.

His amusement died quickly when Remus jumped up at the noise, clearly startled. He regretted it even more when he _really_ took in Remus' face.

The fellow Gryffindor had dark bruises under his amber eyes, which were streaked with bloodshot lines. More so, he had that... look about him. That look he got _far_ too often for Sirius' liking. Like his every bone was aching and a monster lurked around every corner.

Sirius was hit by a sudden wave of dread. Because Remus didn't look alright. And he was struck with how often that was true.

He was snapped out of his worry by a confused grunt from Remus.

"Whas-hapningh?"

Sirius forced what he was sure was an unattractive grimace off of his face, offering instead a sheepish grin.

"Nothing important. Just Jamie being Jamie. Sorry to wake you, mate."

Remus nodded and gave another noncommittal grunt as his bleary eyes darted around, adjusting to his surroundings.

He looked like that a lot too. Unsure. _On guard._

Sirius cleared his throat and let out a hesitant, "Rem?"

It took Remus a moment to register the noise and turn back to Sirius.

"You alright? You seem..."

And there was that guarded look again, covered with a tight, wary smile that reminded Sirius of how he looked whenever he thought too much about his mother. _Could that be what's wrong? Something like that? Like dreams of being buried alive under the roots of a looming family tree?_ Because he was sure _something_ was wrong with Remus. He had been for a while-

"I'm fine. Just...tired." He let out an unconvincing chuckle. "You lot woke me up this morning, remember?"

Sirius matched Remus' laugh with one of his own, one he was sure was just as convincingly humorous.

"Right, well, blame Jamie for that."

He hesitated. There was a pause.

Sirius could drop it. _He could_. He could crack a cocky smirk and make fun of Jamie again and Remus' tight, fake smile would relax a little and he'd say something so much more clever and witty and dry than anything Sirius could come up with, and they'd change the topic and Remus would try and fail to convince Sirius to do his homework and the night would go on like any other. They would console James when Evans rejected him ( _again_ ), and there would be laughing and smiling (and maybe some of the laughing and smiling wouldn't even be fake), and it would be okay. It would be fine.

Or, at least, Remus would pretend that it was okay, and pretend that it was fine, and Sirius would choke on everything he wanted to say.

And suddenly the thought of letting this go on for another _second_ made Sirius feel as claustrophobic as he had that one time his mother locked him in a cupboard for eight hours when he was seven because he had screwed up again.

So he leaned forward, just a bit. An urgency seeped into his voice. Because, really, Rem was one of his best mates, and this was ridiculous, he could talk to them if something was wrong, right? Right. So. Moment of truth then.

"But, look, Rem, it's not just today, is it? You're tired _all the time._ And - and _jumpy_ , and you disappear, _all the time_ , and you always look... I don't know, _scared_ , or something, whenever we ask _questions, normal_ questions, and, we aren't _stupid,_ Remus, we _know_ something's going on, and, well... I'm worried, I guess, we all are, and you can _talk_ to us, if something's wrong, you know that, right? Remus? You can trust u-"

But here he was cut off. More desperation had seeped into his voice as he rambled on, his eyes trying to connect with Remus in vain as the other boy looked away, a tight scowl on his lips, his knuckles white as they gripped fiercely onto the book in his lap.

Now he stood, stiffly, sharply, anger rippling just under the surface of his lanky limbs. Anger Sirius was starting to suspect never truly went away.

"I'm _fine,_ Sirius. _Fine._ "

His face was hard, his eyes were fire.

His hands were shaking.

He wouldn't meet Sirius' eyes.

"Just- just _drop_ it."

Sirius had shot out of his seat seconds after Remus did. This was one of those times he hated how tall the other boy was.

" _Remus,_ I can't just _drop_ it, you _aren't_ okay-"

And now Remus's eyes pinned Sirius in his place. The usually warm amber was molten, volatile. Dangerous.

 _This is wrong. Remus_ isn't _dangerous. He's...Remus._

"I'm _fine_."

Sirius hadn't known how something said so quietly could be so piercing, could hold so much weight. He hadn't known how unconvincing something so simple could be.

" _Remus..."_

For a moment there was silence. The world was the two of them, the world was Remus, and the world was _broken, and Sirius needed to fix it, needed to, because Remus shouldn't ever look that sad, that...helpless, this -_ lost _._ He _needed_ to fix it _. But he didn't know how._

For a moment, there was truth.

And then it was gone.

Evan's angry shouts crept into their corner, James apparently having touched a nerve yet again.

They registered, almost simultaneously, that they were in a very public common room, and, while the corner table they sat at wasn't particularly central, it wasn't exactly hidden, either.

Remus' stare snapped away as he scanned the room, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief as he saw their altercation had gone unnoticed. Sirius followed his gaze and perceived that the room's inhabitants were all focused on James' frantic attempts to block the hexes Evans was now shooting at him. Jamie's suffering was, at least, good for something.

Sirius turned back to Remus - only to find his friend was gone. Another turn let him catch sight of Remus disappearing up the stairs that led to their dormitory.

He could follow him, he supposed, but Remus was undoubtedly already feigning sleep. _No, the prat's so bloody exhausted he probably_ is _already asleep._

And besides... whatever was going on with Remus, he didn't appear willing to share.

With a sigh, Sirius slumped down into his seat and yanked a frustrated hand through his hair.

He was soon joined by a pouting James, who claimed the seat Remus had vacated, and Peter, who was attempting to console the inconsolable Jamie.

The two boys, already brothers in every way that mattered, sat in equal states of quiet dejection for a few moments, before James turned to Sirius.

"So why are you bloody miserable, then?"

Sirius paused for a moment, lost in worried thought. But then, first hesitantly, followed by trademark Black stubbornness and brash decisiveness, his worried thought became determined plans.

His shoulders took on an obstinate set as he made his mind up.

Turning to his friends, his grey eyes glowed like the star he was named for.

"Listen up, mates. Something's up with Remus, yah?"

James, who had sat up at the trademark signs of one of Sirius' schemes, exchanged a glance with Peter, any remnants of discouragement from his latest rejection gone.

"Remus?"

"Yes."

And there was a moment. One moment.

A moment in which the boys traded significant glances, and it became clear to all of them that, after over a year of unvoiced concern and accepted excuses and thin denial – they were _finally_ going to talk about Remus.

Because Sirius had been right.

They weren't stupid.

And there were only so many lies they could take.

James was the one to break the silence. With a sharp nod, he incinerated the door Sirius had dared to open. There was no going back.

"Well, yes, obviously. How many aunts of his have died off since we've known him? Maybe eight? I'm sorry, but his family drops like bloody flies, to hear him tell it."

"And I've counted, he's had five grandparents die since first year," Peter squeaked.

"Right," James nodded again, starting to lean forward. "And it's not like he's adopted, or has step-relatives, as far as we know, so he shouldn't have more than four. And even if he did, for them all to die within a year-and-a-half? No, sorry, not buying it."

Peter nodded, in constant agreement with James.

" _Exactly."_ Sirius slammed a hand in the table for emphasis. "He's hiding something."

The three exchanged solemn looks again, the statement _finally_ voicing what they had all long known.

James repeated the words like they were an oath. "He's hiding something."

A pause, another glance, before Peter piped up. "Well, what are we going to do about it?" Here he hesitated, questioning, "We- we _are_ going to do something, right? That's why you brought it up?"

Janes nodded. "Oh, we're doing something about it, mate." He turned to Sirius, one eyebrow raised. "Right?"

Sirius grinned, wickedly and with deadly certainty.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do."

He inched forward, and all three followed suit. Any outsider would have immediately recognized the pose as their scheming huddle. But this time, they weren't discussing Slytherin weaknesses. They were discussing their best mate's.

"He's hiding something, and we're going to figure out _exactly_ what it is. And then we'll show him it _doesn't bloody matter,_ whatever it is. Because it _doesn't. Right?"_

He made eye contact with both boys in turn.

Solemn, determined nods were exchanged, initial plans were made, and an air of excitement settled among the three.

Remus may not have felt like sharing whatever was going on, but, bloody hell, that wasn't about to stop them.

He was their best mate.

He was _Sirius_ ' best mate.

And Sirius was _going_ to help Remus, was going to _make_ Remus trust him, _whether he liked it or not._

 _It's okay, Remus. We'll make it okay._

 _I promise._

* * *

 **Hope you liked this! As always, please give feedback; I'd love to know how it's going. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Of Monsters and Memories

**Chapter 3: Of Monsters and Memories**

Remus was on edge.

Not that that was unusual.

The reason for the unease wasn't unusual either – it hadn't left him since he was four years old.

Not since Fenrir Greyback had lurked outside his bedroom window under the careful eye of a cruel moon and murdered Remus' childhood with a bite.

Remus had come, in the following years, to view that as the night he was born. After all, it's anniversary was far more frequent, and had a far greater impact on his life, then his actual birthday, which he hardly bothered celebrating anymore.

Honestly, when he truly thought about it – not that he ever _wanted_ to think about it – (not that that ever stopped him) – he was fairly certain 'Remus Lupin' had died the second Fenrir sunk vicious claws into toddler flesh. It made sense. Because while he didn't remember that night, and while he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, remember anything that came before, he remembered his first transformation.

How could he forget it?

It was everything.

He didn't remember his parents (the mother that wouldn't call him her darling anymore and the father that would no longer look him in the eyes) rushing to his bedside as Fenrir dashed away and frantically searching him for a pulse. (And his mother weeping violent tears when they found one). (And his father, fueled by instinct, lurching to grab a pillow to smother the beast before it could do harm). (And his mother, distraught, reaching to pull him back because, "He's still our son, Lyall;" "Our son is dead, Hope." But he'd dropped the pillow, anyway). (He didn't remember, but Remus had heard them speaking about it, once.) (His first thought had been that they'd all have been better off if his mother hadn't interfered.)

He didn't remember being led to the makeshift cell (cage) in the basement of the Lupin household for the first time – a cell that was pristine and new and grey like his creator (but which would quickly gain a fresh coat of red paint).

He didn't remember being locked in, a terrified, shivering, ruined child.

He didn't remember what came before.

His life started (and ended) with the change.  
With the moon rising and shattering his bones and violating his humanity to suit its whims.

He remembered the pain.

He remembered wishing he would die when he was too young to understand what that meant.

He remembered realizing he was a monster – though that may be inaccurate. Can you realize something when you don't know anything different?

On the night of his death – on the night of his birth – on whatever night it was – whatever he could have been, should have been, might have wanted to be, was destroyed.

And all that was left was the monster, and a slight residue of humanity that stretched across his bones and was all that remained to hold the destruction back.

Remus' existence was spent waiting for that barrier to break.

So yes, Remus was on edge. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been.

But since he had arrived at Hogwarts, that tension had shifted.

When Albus Dumbledore had first arrived at the home which Lyall and Hope and their burden inhabited, Remus hadn't known what to think. The Lupins never had visitors. That was a rule, and so whatever this man was here for, it couldn't have been good.

Except then he was smiling at Remus, and introducing himself, and his glasses were shaped like the good kind of moon, and it was obvious, then, that he couldn't be aware of what Remus _was_ … except he was. He knew. And he was smiling. And talking. And shaking his hand. And talking about _school,_ of all things, and _Remus_ going to school _,_ going to _Hogwarts… going somewhere no one knew… going somewhere no one looked at him and started to tear up, or started to scowl – going somewhere he could learn_ magic _– for seven years._

And that had changed everything.

He had been assured the staff would help keep the secret, and that they would make sure no one got hurt, and that he would get to _go._

He had stepped onto a scarlet train he never thought he'd see, and he'd sat down in an empty compartment.

And that was when the fear had shifted.

Because then another boy walked in.

And another.

And another.

And one was stocky and had black hair that had never seen a comb and smiling hazel eyes and crooked glasses and a mouth that was wide and loud and happy and said hello as a tan hand reached across to Remus and waited to be shaken.

And another was short and pale and blond and quiet and stared at the first boy with an awe that would only ever grow and made friendly squeaks in Remus' direction as he said hello and offered him chocolate.

And the third was – Well, the third was beautiful.

He was elegant and aristocratic and his black hair brushed his shoulders and his eyes were almost storm clouds and he smirked and reclined on the seat like he owned it with a carelessness Remus couldn't imagine and he scoffed and laughed and made fast friends with the first boy as he bragged about how he would be in Gryffindor, thank you very much, and "What'll your house be, then?" he shot at Remus, genuine curiosity buried underneath a practiced disdain, and Remus was stuttering because, for the first time, here were boys his own age that didn't seem to think anything was wrong with him, except now the third seemed impatient and he was asking again and Remus better respond and Merlin please don't let him ruin this, he couldn't bear to ruin this, so he mumbled back a response and the boy was satisfied and this was so new and so perfect.

And then he was stumbling into the Great Hall surrounded by other eleven-year-old's that were just as nervous but with so much less to lose, and a hat was falling over his eyes and calling out Gryffindor and for the first time red didn't just mean blood, and he was sitting next to the happy boy from the train – sitting next to James – who was saying Remus couldn't be all that bad, then, if he was in Gryffindor, and they were eating and laughing and Remus couldn't stop himself from cautiously smiling and so this was what happiness felt like.

And James and Peter and Sirius became his friends, his absolute best friends, and he was a Marauder, and so from the second those boys walked into his sight and shook his shaking hand, he knew he couldn't go back to before.

So he never stopped being terrified he would.

Because Remus, the fool he was, had become friends with the smartest idiots to ever strut the castle grounds.

Their friendship was one big game of connect the dots, and the final image was a monster. Judging by the conversation he had had with Sirius the night before; his friend had begun playing.

It could only be a matter of time now.

It had always only been a matter of time.

Remus pelted a rock into the Great Lake with considerable force. He was sitting by its banks, in a secluded spot he often came to when he needed to think. Most of the time, he was thinking about the same thing.

Discovery. That was his biggest fear. He knew his biggest fear _should_ be hurting someone – killing someone – turning someone – but he assuaged his guilty conscience with the knowledge that the measures in place to avoid such an event were strong enough that he didn't need to constantly fear it. It was a weak excuse, but Remus couldn't bring himself to care.

When Sirius had looked at Remus just before he began the interrogation, Remus saw something in his eyes that turned him to stone. For a split second, the thought had raced through his head – _he knows_. That was ridiculous, of course. If Sirius had known, he wouldn't have been sitting by Remus, talking to Remus, looking at Remus. He would have been screaming. Or shouting. Or punching.

So they didn't know – yet. But they were suspicious. Sirius had the scent now, and he wouldn't abandon the hunt.

As soon as he had been able to, Remus had darted out of the room and back to their dormitory. He should have gone to sleep, but instead he had lain behind the hangings on his four-poster bed while his mind conjured up endless scenarios of realization. He hadn't slept that night, and had slipped out of the room when the sun began peeking out over the horizon, wandering until he reached this spot.

By his best estimate, it was 6:00. He had a watch, but he really didn't care enough to check.

He knew he should head back soon, or the others would start looking for him… but then he was hit with another image of a usually grinning James Potter glaring at him with pure hatred – and he could stay out a bit longer.

He was still for a while, before he was hurling another rock into the Lake with as much force as he could muster.

Because – dammit – now that look was on Sirius' face, and he really couldn't handle that.

Because the thought of Sirius – Sirius, who was cocky and loud and beautiful and proud, and still somehow insecure and unsure underneath the bravado, and who always looked at Remus in _that way_ in the days before the transformation, and brought him chocolate, and knew the difference between when Remus said to shut it and was joking and when he said to shut it and actually _needed_ them to _shut up_ , and who would slide his homework over to Remus, no questions asked, on the rare instances he had forgotten to do it because he hadn't slept in a week, and who Remus sometimes just couldn't bring himself to stop staring at – the thought of that Sirius, of _his_ Sirius, hating him… it made Remus feel sick.

Remus knew that Sirius would never think of Remus the way Remus thought of him, but he was fine with that, really. Sirius wore beauty the way other people wore clothes, and the way Remus wore fear. He was the brightest star, and Remus was at his best when the moon was dead.

He didn't need Sirius to need him – but he did need Sirius.

And while he could handle Sirius never fawning over him the way James fawned over Lily, and while he could live with never knowing if Sirius' lips felt as soft as they looked, he would in no way ever be able to move on if Sirius decided he was better off without Remus.

Rejections from James and Peter would crush him too, of course; but where their hatred and disgust would be like a bullet to the heart, the same from Sirius would be like getting stabbed in the gut and being left to bleed out until nothing remained.

Groaning, Remus dragged his hands down his face. This was why he needed sleep; he was far too melodramatic when he was tired.

 _Get ahold of yourself. Merlin, they don't even know anything yet, but if you keep this wallowing up they won't want to be around you regardless._

Because, honestly, they didn't know yet. And, while Sirius' confrontation had been slightly more determined than previous ones, there _had been_ previous ones.

More subtle, perhaps, but still with the same underlying tone of _what the bloody hell is wrong with you._

They always happened just before the full moon, and the never amounted to anything. This would be the same.

In two days, Remus would be whisked away to the Shrieking Shack, and when he returned, he'd hopefully have just under three weeks of not feeling like complete and utter crap with which he could convince the other that he was _fine._

And they would prank the Slytherins and laugh and Remus would stop wallowing and just be grateful for the time he got.

Nodding his head in silent self-affirmation, Remus stood. He checked his watch and saw it was 6:15. Good. That was early enough on a Sunday that the others should still be asleep; hopefully he could sneak back into the dormitory unnoticed and no one need ever be concerned.

He would get some much-needed sleep, and everything would be fine.

Perfectly fine.

He was overreacting, and it would be fine.

In the pale light, a lanky, amber-eyed werewolf walked back into the shadows of a looming castle, resolutely _not_ thinking about how, one day, his carefully constructed world of _fine_ would come crashing down around him, leaving him perfectly alone.

* * *

 **Yahhhh...** **So, basically I'm addicted to parenthesis. And overly long sentences. (I checked, the longest sentence in the chapter is 154 words.) I have no filter. I'm absolutely terrible at diving my thoughts up reasonably, so I generally just don't bother, leaving you all with rambling, stream of consciousness mumbo-jumbo. However, in this case I do think it fits, seeing as the whole chapter is just Remus trapped inside his own angst-filled head. I know not much actually happened in this installment, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway; and don't worry, actual things will start to happen at some point. Eventually. Probably.**

 **Thank you so much for reading, and please consider leaving feedback! It truly does encourage me to keep writing, and I love hearing from you all. So please, if you have any questions, comments, corrections, or thoughts of any kind, please share! It'll make my day :D**


	4. of Quests and Questions

**Chapter 4: Of Quests and Questions**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed, followed, or favorited so far! I've loved hearing from you all so much :D**

 **Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Sirius had been awake when Remus crept back into their dormitory – in fact, he had been woken up when Remus had left at dawn, and had lain awake, waiting for Remus' return, since then. The occurrence only fueled his determination to figure out _what was going on,_ seeing as there was no reasonable explanation for Remus to be doing _anything_ at six in the morning on a Sunday other than _sleeping –_ not after how tired he had looked the night before.

Sirius briefly pondered the hypocrisy of this statement; he had, after all, also been awake at six in the morning on that particular Sunday… but he was awake out of _concern,_ and he didn't walk around looking half-dead of exhaustion _all the bloody time_ , so there was _clearly_ a difference.

He didn't go back to sleep right away once Remus returned. Instead, he listened to his friend pull back the hangings of his four-poster and slowly crawl under the covers. He listened to his breathing as it gradually calmed into a steady rhythm, until he was absolutely sure he had (finally) fallen asleep. And then he just listened; and as he listened, he thought.

The night before, after James, Peter, and Sirius resolved to help Remus by being as nosy and interfering as was magically possible, they had launched right into their newfound quest… only to almost immediately hit a wall.

In all honesty, while they wanted to uncover the truth, and while they wanted to do so soon, they really didn't have any clue where to start. Aside from that, it had already been getting late, and the noisy common room wasn't particularly conducive to plotting – especially since the _last_ thing they wanted to do was alert _anyone_ to what they were up to, let alone someone who might let Remus know what was going on.

If Sirius knew anything about his friend, it was that the idiot would _not_ be pleased if he found out about what the Marauders were planning.

Bloody tosser would probably think they were hunting for weaknesses to use against him, or some such bull.

Because of this, the trio had decided to postpone the Grand Inception of the Justifiable Investigation of Lupin's Yawns Project (dubbed so by James and met with the following reception: "His _yawns? Yawns?!_ We aren't investigating his _yawns,_ you idiot!" "The yawns are _symbolic,_ Sirius – they represent all the disappearances and such-" "Oh, shut it, Jamie, we are _not_ calling it the bloody G.I. Jily Project, just because of your insufferable pining!" "But Siiiiiiiiriussssssssss-" "I don't mind-" "Oh don't be a suck up, Peter.").

(The postponing may also have been influenced by the frankly ridiculous amount of time they spent arguing over said project name – but one of the three would vehemently deny those accusations, while a different one of the three would spend quite a bit of time making them – all of which is rather beside the point.)

In any case, they had decided not to pursue the matter until they could be sure to do it in a way that would not get back to Remus, or to anyone else.

So Sirius had walked up the stairs to the second-year boys' dormitory, and stared at the drawn curtains on the bed by the window, and immediately kind of hated himself for spending so much time fighting with James over a bloody name. Because while they had been doing that, Remus had been sitting up here, miserable and alone.

And dammit, Sirius wasn't okay with that.

He had plopped down onto his sheets and settled into a restless sleep that ended abruptly when he had heard a quiet shuffling coming from Remus' bed and never resumed.

He was nothing short of relieved when Remus returned, and had determined not to say anything about his early-morning stroll. Best to not press the matter – the last thing he wanted was for Remus to get mad. Or hurt. Or upset in any way. Or really anything other than content and happy.

Because Remus deserved to be content and happy.

Remus was warmth and baggy wool jumpers and a special kind of wit and snark that had been wholly unexpected back before Sirius really got to know him.

He was an unhealthy obsession with chocolate and books and a mystery of pain and scars.

He was living proof that Sirius' entire family was comprised of bigoted tossers whose claims were absolute garbage.

He was better than Sirius could ever be, and he was the best friend he would ever have.

And, without being told, Sirius knew he had been cheated by the world.

These were the thoughts that plagued him while he listened to Remus' tentative breaths – and had continued to rattle around his skull as the four boys roused and meandered to breakfast.

Sirius payed careful attention to the way Remus' eyes seemed to studiously avoid contact with his; saw how his smiles were a bit tighter than normal, a bit more unnatural. He did his best to joke and stick only to _safe_ topics, however, like _Quidditch_ and _the latest Transfiguration essay_ and anything _other_ than _hmmm so Remus do you want to explain what last night was please and thank you;_ and by the time they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, the lines in Remus' face had relaxed minutely, seemingly reassured that Sirius was not about to resume their conversation.

Sirius was counting it as a victory.

"So, Remus," James declared as he, Remus, Sirius, and Peter all settled in to their usual seats at the Gryffindor table; "I was talking to Sirius last night," (and Sirius hated the way Remus immediately tensed up at those words.)

"Unsurprising; the two of you rarely shut up. Is this supposed to be a revelation?" came the studious, cool reply.

James rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Oi, my thoughts are a _gift._ You lot should count yourselves lucky I allow you to witness my brilliance."

Remus' right eyebrow yanked itself up his face, but there was a characteristic twinkle of challenge in his eyes as he replied, word dry as a desert: "Of course. Forgive me, All Mighty and Powerful James Potter. This has been a most grievous insult. I implore you. Have mercy. Is that better? And may I ask why, if your thoughts are _such gifts,_ a certain Lily Evans always seems so determined _not_ to receive them?"

At this, Sirius began to cackle, and even Peter cracked a tentative grin. James flushed red and ruffled his hair, before muttering something unintelligible in response. Sirius still didn't stop laughing, provoking curious stares from nearby tables, an amused and slightly satisfied eyebrow quirk from Remus, and a half-glare from James, who, after his defensive, "Oh, haha, yes, _hilarious;_ you can quit it now," only managed to incite more laughter, simply rolled his eyes again, kicked Sirius in the shin, and turned back to Remus.

"As I was _saying_ ," he began, loudly, "I was talking to Sirius." At this, all trace of amusement fled Remus' face. Sirius was momentarily concerned that James, being an idiot, was about to confront Remus even though they had _expressly agreed not_ to, but James plowed on before he or Remus could say anything.

"I've decided to grant a name to my glorious lifelong quest to win the affections of one Miss Evans. From this moment on, said quest shall be referred to as…," (and here James paused for what he surely thought was dramatic effect, but which Remus' eyebrows took as a chance to reach heretofore unheard-of heights on his forehead), "… Project Jily." Following this declaration, James' face held a look far more proud than the situation warranted, Sirius groaned and plopped his face into his hands, Peter shook his head in that sadly confused way he had when his hero let him down, and Remus, who pursed his lips and dragged his hand down his face, seemed to age fifty years as he grappled to come to terms with the stupidity of his roommate.

A long-suffering sigh escaped him as his eyes rose to meet James, and his voice was filled with tired, scathing judgement as he repeated, "Project... Jily? _Really,_ James? _Really?"_

Sirius, who still hadn't lifted his face from his hands, let out a muffled, "For the record, when he says he, ' _talked to Sirius,'_ he means he suggested this and ignored me as I groaned with the pain of a thousand slaughtered goats and protested. Loudly."

James was now pouting like a very small child. There was an almost desperate plea in his voice as he turned to his only potential ally. "Come on, it's a good idea! Peter's with me, right Peter? You said you didn't mind it last night? Right? Peter?"

The smallest Marauder responded with a string of quiet, 'Ummm's, and, 'Well's, and 'hmmgsms's, before finally looking up apologetically at James and squeaking, "James… I- Not to say it's a _bad_ idea… It's just- Not a very good one?"

Sirius cackled again. "If even _Peter_ isn't on your side, James, it's _definitely_ a crap name."

Peter hurriedly tried to come to James' defense. "No, no, I don't think it's _crap…"_ But there he faded into silence, because, while he hadn't fought the name when it was first suggested, he had been motivated by a desire to stop James and Sirius from fighting over it so he could go to bed, and not by actual support for the name.

Remus merely continued to judge James in silence, and Sirius, invigorated by the support, suggested James go tell Evans about the name, and see what she thought of it.  
James flushed red again, before interjecting, "Forget you lot, _I_ like it. So that's what I'm calling it. So, Remus, if you hear me mentioning a Project Jily, or the G.I. Jily Project, or something of that sort – just know, I'm talking about my quest. All right? Nothing else, just my search for joy in an unforgiving world full of crappy friends who don't support my dreams. Okay?"

Remus was now sending James an equally judgmental, but now slightly bewildered look that bordered on the suspicious. _And of course he was suspicious, with James being so bloody obvious._ "James, why would I care what you're calling it? And why did you feel the need to _explain_ the name to me? It's not exactly code – pretty freaking obvious what _Jily_ means."

James _violently_ and _suspiciously_ cleared his throat before responding, voice just a tad too high, "Well, obviously, it's obvious what it means, _obviously;_ I mean, what else could it mean? Just making conversation, mate." He followed this statement with _very_ awkward chuckling, and, _Merlin, Sirius was going to hex him if he kept this up._

"Right…," Remus drawled in response, and, yep, he was _definitely_ suspicious now. Wonderful.

Luckily, the post arrived at that moment, successfully keeping James from making more of a mess.

Even if the entrance of a couple dozen loud animals hadn't kept James from rambling, it wouldn't have mattered, since a large, tawny owl landed before Remus, effectively distracting him, and the rest of the Marauders, completely.

Remus didn't get post often, and they all knew what it meant when he did. Remus was quick to cover up the darkness that splashed across his features as he skimmed the letter's contents, but not fast enough to keep Sirius from noticing it. He was used to that look – be it anger, or pain, or fear, or resignation – seizing his friend's face. He traded significant looks with James and Peter, who had also noticed the momentary slip in composure.

Forcing false lightness into his voice, Sirius questioned, "Letter from home?" as James pretended to read the veritable essay his parents had sent him, because Merlin forbid he wasn't kept informed of _every singular occurrence_ of the Potter household while he was at school; and _no, that definitely wasn't jealousy in his tone, it's not like he_ wanted _his mother to write him._

"Yah. My mum's sick again. Dad wants me to visit. He's arranged it with McGonagall; I'm to leave Tuesday night. Probably won't be back until Wednesday evening."

Not looking up from his letter, James said, in what he probably _thought_ was an unassuming voice, "Bit odd, isn't it? That your dad has you visit during the week? Isn't he concerned with you missing class?"  
Looking noticeably uncomfortable, Remus shifted a bit in his seat. "I dunno. Guess not – besides, it's just a couple days."

Sirius wished James would just leave it at that, but of course not. He let out an unconvinced hum and started in again. Sirius wondered if Remus had noticed that James was still staring at the first page of his letter. Probably. "What does your mum _have,_ exactly? I mean, I know she's sick, because she's _always_ sick, but what is it? Like, Dragon Pox? Spattergroit? Nasty reaction to a potion? What?"

Here Sirius had enough and aimed a sharp kick at James under the table, which was met with a sharp yelp. "What was that for?!"

Glaring – because, honestly, Sirius tended to be about as subtle as a bat bogey hex, and even _he_ wasn't as obvious as James was being - Sirius shot back, "I'm trying to lend you some tact, Jamie, as you're clearly lacking."

"I'm just asking! It's a reasonable question!"

They would have launched into a full-blown fight, which would surely end with someone in the Hospital Wing, but Remus cut in. Avoiding all eye contact, he said, "You're forgetting, James, that my mother is a muggle. She doesn't get wizard diseases."

A bit taken aback, James rubbed his neck sheepishly, while Sirius' glare evolved into a glower. "Heh. Right. Forgot about that."

"Clearly," came the unimpressed drawl. There was a momentary pause as Remus inspected his pumpkin juice, as though deciding what to say. He bit his cheek before taking a swig of the drink and looking up. "She's got cancer. It's a muggle sickness. No cure – just treatments that don't always work. She goes through phases; sometimes she's perfect, others she could die any second. So when she's bad, I go visit. Screw what day of the week it is. Any more questions?" He kept his face perfectly blank until the end, when his eyebrows lifted in an obvious challenge.

As he spoke, Peter, who had been wringing his hands during James and Sirius' spat, started to gnaw at his lips and grow increasingly nervous.

James began to shuffle in his seat and stare down at the table, guilt obvious on his face.

Sirius stared at Remus, something sharp twisting in his gut. Damn Jamie and his ridiculous bluntness.

James cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. "No. Sorry for pushing, mate. And sorry about your mum. That's rough."

Peter chimed in with, "Yah, sorry," and Sirius tried to push comfort out of his mouth, only to have the words shredded into pieces by the knives in his throat and come out as a strangled tangled grunt.

Remus merely let out a low hum before abruptly changing the topic to what work the others intended to get done that afternoon, and James, feeling bad enough already, played along.

However, while the four of them tried to erase all thought of Remus' ill mother from the air, the memories lingered, like the words had been scratched into a chalkboard and, while the marks had been smeared away, the dust remained.

It swirled through the air and settled on their skin, and it refused to fade away.

But then something odd happened.

Because, the longer Sirius lingered on the image of Remus, speaking sickness into the room and silencing them all – the more he was convinced he was lying.

The more he knew, though he'd never say it, for fear of being wrong – that the chalk dust was a fog, enveloping the truth.

And Sirius was convinced, as the knives in his throat twisted and bled, that maybe someone _was_ sick – but it wasn't Remus' mother.

And it never had been.

* * *

 **I don't know why, but I'll never not be convinced that at some point, James coined the term 'Jily.' And that the rest of the Marauders hated him for it. I'm also convinced that James was the bluntest idiot to ever idiot, and that he couldn't be subtle if his life depended on it. I love James XD.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading! If you like this story so far, please leave feedback!**


	5. Of Guilt and Goodbyes

**Chapter 5: Of Guilt and Goodbyes**

As Remus stepped out of the Great Hall and ducked into a side corridor, he felt that his heart was a bludger, ricocheting against his ribs and threatening to shatter them into a million brittle pieces. The second he had thought he could flee breakfast without being completely obvious, he had made (what he hoped were) casual excuses, claiming to need the loo. They seemed to have been effective, as none of his friends had questioned him – then again, they hadn't questioned him at all following his rather thorough guilt trip. James, especially, had seemed particularly remorseful, since he had been the one to pursue the topic of Remus' mother so intently.

Remus' mother…

Remus did feel bad, he _did._

He _hated_ lying to his friends, hated seeing the suspicion shadowing their eyes, hated when their mouths drew into tight lines and they gave each other those stupid all-knowing glances that never failed to make Remus feel completely worthless and excluded and terrified.

He _hated_ lying to them… which was probably why he had.

Why he had looked James straight in his hazel eyes and spoken of a sickness he knew James and Sirius would know nothing about. Peter, being a half-blood, likely was more familiar, but Remus doubted (prayed) that he wasn't informed enough about the particulars of cancer to be able to catch Remus in a lie.

And while he did feel an uncomfortable guilt as he saw James' jaw unhinge in shock and his eyes crumple with remorse, and while that guilt had only grown when a glance at Sirius had found him almost frozen with pain and astonished sorrow, and while he knew it was a terrible, hateful thing to pretend his mother had _cancer_ just to put an end to invasive questions – he couldn't deny (however much he wanted to) that a small part of him had … reveled in the guilt his actions induced.  
He had taken some sort of sick, vindictive pleasure in making them all _shut up_ , in putting a harsh end to an interrogation that made him feel caged.

Because _all he wanted,_ all Remus was _desperate_ for, was for them to _stop asking._ For the three best friends he'd ever had to just _drop it_ , to stop digging, to _stop_ hunting for secrets as Remus tried to bury them.  
But they never did. So finally being able to make them, even if it meant they hated themselves just a bit for pushing…

It was a small part of him – but it was bigger than could ever be defensible.

And suddenly Remus felt sick.

Here he was, as human as he ever got, and he was still a monster.

A monster far too selfish and foolish and wretched to go and do the decent thing – to walk back to his friends and say, "So, earlier, when I said my mum's got cancer? Yah, that was a lie. She isn't sick. I just said that because I didn't want you to know where I'm _really_ going Tuesday night – which is to the Shrieking Shack, where I go every full moon to transform, because, oh right, I'm a werewolf. Pass the jam, would you?"

Remus scoffed to himself, still tucked away in his little corridor.

He'd never tell them. And however much he hated lying, however desperate he was for them to know, however much he wished he didn't have to keep this secret at all… it would never be enough to make him willing to risk _the end_.

Which is why, once Remus' heart had stopped pummeling his insides and he could finally get his hands to unclench, he turned and reentered the Great Hall, sat back down at the Gryffindor table, and made a dry comment to Peter about how Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans weren't a particularly nutritious breakfast food as he reached across the table for the jam.

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, as did the next, and so Tuesday came about without any more unfortunate altercations (for which Remus was very grateful. The waxing moon was already causing him more than enough grief. And if the other Marauders had taken particular notice of Remus' growing lethargy as his date of departure approached…well, they didn't say anything to him.)

In fact, it wasn't until Tuesday morning, as Remus was packing a change of clothes and some other odds and ends into the bag he always used when he "visited home," that the topic of his trip was broached.

As Remus finished stowing away a novel Lily had recommended to him (purely for the boys' benefit, of course, as he wouldn't be reading anything that night), James spoke up from where he reclined on his bed, tossing a snitch around.

"All packed and ready to go, Remus?" He didn't look at Remus when he asked, and his friend got the sneaking suspicion that James was trying to appear more casual than he felt.

"I think so," he responded, feigning preoccupation with his task. "I should have everything I need for two days. Shouldn't be gone longer than that." (Hopefully he wouldn't be gone longer than that, is what he actually meant. If he was, that would mean the wolf had been particularly vicious.)

"Don't worry, Remus; we'll take notes for you when you're gone," Peter interjected, pulling his face out of (another) box of Every Flavour Beans.

"And all the notes Peter takes will be complete rubbish, seeing as his handwriting is bloody illegible," Sirius quipped with a trademark smirk. But the grin he sent Peter was good-natured, and the smaller boy merely blushed, begrudgingly admitting there was some truth in what Sirius had said.

Remus, ever the peacemaker (when he wanted to be), spoke up. "Thank you, Peter. I appreciate the offer." The thanks was unnecessary, of course. They always took notes for him. He always said thanks, all the same.

"Not like you need us taking notes for you anyway, my darling Lupin." The exaggerated drawl came from Sirius, who had flopped down onto James' bed – and, consequently, onto James – despite said James' protests.

That gave Remus pause – not the rather violent battle that was now taking place for James' mattress (in which James appeared to be choking Sirius with a sock); that was practically an everyday occurrence in the Gryffindor tower – but what Sirius had said.

"What does that mean?"

"Hmghmhh?" Sirius paused in giving James a headlock and looked at Remus. James took advantage of the lapse in focus to shove Sirius bodily off of his bed, and the black-haired boy seemed to debate resuming the conflict before deciding against it and turning once more to Remus. Almost on an afterthought, he spat out the sock and chucked it at James. "What does what mean?"

"Why wouldn't I need to borrow notes?"

Remus didn't miss the looks the other three exchanged, or the tightness in Sirius' otherwise casual voice.

"Just meant that – well, the professors are always pretty understanding about your trips home – for obvious reasons, of course," and here he blushed and ducked his head, expressing the same shame James' had after breakfast on Sunday. "I figure if you were to fall a bit behind, they wouldn't give you too much crap over it. Rather decent of them, really."

Forcing a half-smile, Remus responded with, "Well, you know me. Don't want to fall behind, what with … exams and all."

Peter, never a fan of confrontation, peeped up again. "Don't worry Remus; you've got us! And we won't let you fall behind."

The statement, delivered in Peter's usual overeager manner, elicited a more genuine smile from Remus, albeit a small one. "Thanks, Pete." Peter shoved some more Bertie Bott's Beans into his mouth in jovial response.

Catching a glimpse of James' bedside clock, Remus realized it was about time for them to head down to breakfast. He turned back to his bed and, sparing a last cursory glance to ensure he had everything he would plausibly need, he closed his bag and said, "I think I'm ready for tonight. Come on, we should go eat or we'll be late."

The day's classes passed far too quickly for Remus' liking, and it seemed like no time before the four boys were heading back to the Gryffindor dormitories. While James, Sirius, and Peter settled into the Common Room to get some work done before dinner, Remus climbed the stairs to their room to retrieve his bag.

He was about to walk back down to where his friends were likely being entirely unproductive, when something made him pause at the door. Slowly, he turned back and haltingly crossed to the window. Remus' hands were white where they clenched the windowsill as he stared out onto the Hogwarts grounds, eyes narrowing as he looked, transfixed, at the tree that marked the entrance to his Hell.

If someone had looked at Remus at that moment, where he stood in the rapidly fading light, they wouldn't have seen a boy.

They would have seen a corpse.

* * *

"Professor McGonagall is probably waiting for me; I should head off. Suppose I'll see you lot in a few days." Remus' reentrance into the Common Room had been sudden and Peter, who had been rather enthralled in the latest Stephen King novel his mother had sent him, yelped and toppled out of his chair, much to Sirius' amusement.

James, who had been bouncing his snitch off of the back of Sirius' head, halted his task and cautiously ventured, "Rem? – Send your mum our best, alright?"

"Yah, tell her we hope she'll get better," said Peter, massaging his head where it had collided with the floor.

"Thanks, guys… I'll – I'll let her know."

Remus noticed that Sirius hadn't joined in the well-wishing. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Deciding to ignore it, he sent the three a half-hearted wave and said goodbye a final time before walking out the door and all the way to McGonagall's office, where he ate a quick meal before Madam Pomfrey hustled him off to the Whomping Willow.

The howls and wails that shattered the quiet of the night down in Hogsmeade that full moon were worse than they had ever been. The villagers would speak in hushed tones for days, weeks, years to come of how they had lain in their beds, unable to drift into unconsciousness as the air was pierced and shredded and flayed and rent by the tortured spirits that lurked in the Shrieking Shack. They would trade awed whispers of how the house had been rattled and shaken to its foundations, how the very oxygen had been tainted with the lingering scents of age-old blood.

But none of the villagers who bore witness to the horror would ever know that they remembered and whispered of the torment of a twelve-year-old boy, trapped in a body determined to destroy him.

And, while the night would become legendary in its terror, and stories would drift up to the nearby castle – stories of the Sleepless Night – none of the castle's inhabitants were themselves disturbed on the night in question.

None, save for the three boys in the second-year Gryffindor dormitory, who spent the night haunted by questions and visions and fears for an amber-eyed friend.

A friend who – though they did not know it at the time – they would not see again for a week.

* * *

 **I hope you liked this chapter, and thank you for reading! Please, please, please consider leaving feedback! Follows/favorites are always appreciated, but reviews are even better; I absolutely love hearing what you all think. Plus, it's an excellent motivator for me to get chapters written faster, so everyone wins!**

 **Thanks again for reading!**


	6. Of Pens and Patience

**Chapter 6: Of Pens and Patience**

 **Thanks for all the feedback you've left on this story so far! I hope you all like this chapter; I think it's the longest one yet, so enjoy!**

* * *

"Alright, that's enough."

The words were accompanied by a loud bang, as Sirius slammed the large library book he had been inspecting shut with far more vehemence than was necessary.

Almost immediately following his outburst, Madam Pince began to violently berate him for both his volume and his ill-treatment of one of her precious books, and within five minutes Sirius, James, and Peter had all been shooed out the library door, having only barely managed to retrieve their belongings before being banished from the premises. James, whose only crime had been sharing a table with a very frustrated Sirius, was quite frustrated himself with the disruption of their studies.

This in itself was a strange occurrence, as James Potter was not generally the type to be concerned with a disruption in his studies – in fact, he was often a source of the disruption. But this was a different case. For he, Sirius, and Peter had not been researching for homework purposes; rather for the purposes of Operation Jily (Sirius and Peter were still adamantly refusing the name, much to James' disappointment, but that's beside the point.) They had been in the library, scouring whatever textbooks and studies and encyclopedias seemed promising for hours upon end for days. Their determination had grown the longer Remus had failed to return.

"Really, Sirius? Really? I thought I was getting somewhere with that last book!" James scolded Sirius as they started walking back to Gryffindor tower.

"Oh don't delude yourself James." The words were fierce, dark, angry. Sirius kept his hands fisted deep in his pockets as he marched, his feet pounding on the stone floor. "You were getting nowhere. We are ALL getting NOWHERE!" And with a rage-fueled might, he spun and rammed his fist into the nearby wall. This, obviously, was not a smart decision, and two seconds later found Sirius cursing and cradling his hand to his chest.

James stared at Sirius with something akin to sympathy, frustration, and commiseration. Sighing, he reached up to ruffle his already rumpled hair.

"Sirius…look – I know you're concerned– "

"It's Sunday, Jamie. He was supposed to be back Wednesday. It's been four days, _four_ , and no one's telling us anything! We've written to Remus twice, we wrote his _parents_ when he didn't respond, and we haven't heard _anything._ What if something's wrong? And we're getting _nowhere_ with this research; we don't even know where to start!"

At this Peter squeaked, "We only wrote his parents yesterday; maybe they're busy."

"Yah, or maybe they aren't home. They could be at a muggle hospital or something and not have gotten our letters; them not writing back doesn't mean anything."

"And we – we've found out _some_ things from our research –" Peter reached into his bag and pulled out the parchment he'd been using to take notes – "We've plotted out all the days we remember Remus being gone, like last month when he left and missed the meeting for Gobstones club –"

"Or the month before when he couldn't help us figure out how to charm Snivellus' hair red and gold –"

"Or the month before that when he asked us to hand his Potions essay in for him because he was gone when it was due, and threatened to hex out our insides if we lost it." As the boys listed off the dates, they pointed to them on their makeshift calendar, which went back to the start of first year and contained every one of Remus' disappearances they had been able to remember.

But Sirius was not convinced. "We've known what days he's missed for ages – now we have them written down, so what?!"

" _So_ , we can look for – I don't know, for _patterns._ For links – we can try and figure out what's going on," James insisted. "And until then we can keep searching the library. Maybe we'll find something when we least expect it."

Sirius shot James a glare, but much of his anger had already fizzled out, so the expression lacked any real heat. You sound like one of those whatchamacallits Evans keeps saying you need to go see – a therapist or therapy-er or Merlin knows what the Muggles call them." With an exaggerated clearing of his throat, he said in an overly affected tone, "Just have patience and seek to achieve harmony within yourself, and you will find what you seek." Dropping the (very inaccurate) mimicry, he snorted and continued to speak. "Yah, well, I _seek_ a quill that doesn't need to be refilled every bloody second, and rainbow-colored galleons, and the ability to read minds, but I'm sure as hell not about to find all that by just being _patient."_

At that point, James sensed that Sirius' had, for the most part, gotten his irritation out of his system, and so he plopped down onto the floor and reclined against the wall, allowing a casual air to permeate their trio. He was quickly joined on the floor by Peter, who managed to not quite trip over his robes while sitting, and finally by a moderately reluctant Sirius, who sighed but draped himself over the feet of the closest suit of armor. They took up most of the corridor, but no one passed by, and they really wouldn't have cared either way.

Going along with Sirius' train of thought, James mused, "Ah-ah-ah, Sirius. Of course you won't find that _just_ by being patient – you forgot all about the _inner harmony_. That's a key component. Without it, you can never hope to find multicolored gold." His voice was grave, but he cracked a smile and his eyes sparked with teasing. "You're right about the quills, though. Someone needs to get on that."

The last statement elicited a mild chuckle from Peter, and James and Sirius both looked over at him, eyebrows cocked in matching expressions of curiosity.

With a mildly amused smile and a small shake of his head, Peter said, "I can't help with the rainbow money or the mind reading, but…" and here he turned to ruffle through his bookbag. "Muggles solved your quill problem _ages_ ago."

James and Sirius traded astonished looks.

"Muggles? What are you on about, Peter?" James' leaned forward a bit in question, and accidentally knocked his glasses askew when he reached back to ruffle his hair.

Peter did not respond right away, instead muttering vague half-sentences as he continued to search. "I'm sure I – Where did I put it – I've got to have at least – Ah-ha!" And with that he lifted an object high into the air in victory.

"I think I've seen Lily with one of those before!" Now James' attention was fully captured – any chance he had to become more connected to Lily, he intended to take, no matter how flimsy the connection. "Never saw what it did, though."

Sirius, already growing impatient with the delay, burst out, "Alright, going to tell us what it is or not, Pete?"

With a grin that stretched across his face, Peter looked excitedly up at the two boys. He was rarely the contributor of unknown knowledge in their group, and found he much enjoyed the feeling. Stretching his hand out to James and Sirius, he spoke with confident excitement. "This is what Muggles call… a pen!"

* * *

It took Peter a good ten minutes to explain the concept of a pen to his friends, during which he quickly tired of his newfound role of _informer._ Better to just leave that to Remus, he decided, feeling a sorrowful pang at the reminder of his absence. After the ten minutes, Sirius and James were more than eager for a demonstration… which was delayed a further thirteen minutes when Peter found his pen was dried out and had to rummage violently through his bag for another. Once a satisfactory pen had finally been located, and demonstrated, a further thirty minutes was spent as the two purebloods – neither of which had ever seen a pen before and both of which were consequently fascinated by the object – squabbled over who got to try it out. By the end of the full fifty-three minutes, they were left with two dried up pens, dozens of pages of used-up parchment, and a Sirius that was much more relaxed than he had been upon exiting the library. James, noticing the change, shot a grateful smile at Peter, who swelled with pride at the recognition.

There was a lull as the wasted stationary was magically cleared and packed away, and after the slight pause James felt he could re-approach their earlier discussion.

Placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder, he said gently, "We'll figure it out, Sirius. It'll be okay. Remus is going to be okay."

Sirius looked back at James, and in a moment of rare vulnerability, James could see the fear and sorrow in his eyes. "What if it isn't, Jamie? What if we can't help"

In a voice that left no room for argument, James responded, "We _will_. Hey, look at me –" he shifted to keep Sirius' gaze. "Figuring this out was _your_ idea, remember? Are you really telling me the Great Sirius Black is giving up? Backing down? Doesn't sound like you, mate."

"James is right, Sirius," piped up Peter enthusiastically. "We can do it! Remus needs us."

Sirius' gaze shifted between James and Peter, and he began to nod without even deciding to. He stopped himself quickly, but it was clear that the moment of doubt had faded. He had remembered the stakes, and he wasn't about to forget them again. He rolled his eyes just the slightest bit and scoffed, "Cheesy as hell, you are, Pete." But the fondness in his voice was clear.

Then, with a deep breath, Sirius dragged his hand down his face as if to reorient himself. He stood and began to pace. "Right," he muttered. "Right – so." He looked back down at James and Peter. "First order of business – number one priority is finding out where Remus is, and making sure he's okay." When the statement was met with approving nods, Sirius took another breath and started to gnaw on his bottom lip in thought. "Right – so – right. Okay. We've written Remus, and his parents, and we're just going to assume we won't be getting responses, so those are dead ends. Who else – who else might be in touch with Remus, or know for sure where he is?"

Sirius had barely finished asking before Peter had shot to his feet.

"Dumbledore! Surely he's got to know where Remus is; he probably helps arrange the trips!"

James also bolted up, but had a different theory. "You're probably right, but Dumbledore might be hard to reach inconspicuously. We don't want people to know we're asking around. But didn't – didn't Remus say that his dad arranged the visit with McGonagall? He probably flooed from her office – she must know where he is, and when he's coming back!"

The boys traded eager grins, and some of the tension that had hung over them constantly since Remus failed to return died away. Because _of course_ Professor McGonagall would know.

Chuckling, Sirius sagged back against the wall. "How did it take us so bloody long to think of asking Minnie? All this worrying – bet she knows exactly where Rem is."

"Well let's go ask her!" Peter was practically jumping from excitement.

"She's probably in her office now," James added. By this point, he had ruffled his hair so many times that it stuck up a straight five inches off his head, and his glasses were precariously hanging off of one ear.

Smiling wider than he had in days, Sirius began to run down the corridor, all thoughts of returning to Gryffindor tower completely abandoned.  
Turning his head to look back at his friends, Sirius called out, "No time like the present, mates!" and continued to run.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was not an easily startled woman, but she still jolted a little in her high-backed chair as the door to her office was flung open with a bang. Her momentary hint of disquiet faded immediately, however, when she saw Sirius standing in her doorway, panting lightly from exertion as he clutched the doorframe. He was soon joined by James, who, to Sirius' annoyance, didn't appear winded at all – stupid Quidditch practice – and after a few moments, by Peter, who was significantly worse off than James or Sirius, and who, moments after entering the room, collapsed heavily into the closest chair.

For a moment, there was no sound but the heavily intake and release of breath. Then, in between inhales, Sirius wheezed, "Hullo…Professor…," before he too collapsed into a chair – though with more grace than Peter had, because Sirius _always_ had more grace than Peter. That was just a fact.

McGonagall eyed them with something akin to exasperation as James too took a seat, before she finally managed to say, in an only mildly clipped tone, "Mr. Black. Mr. Potter. Mr. Pettigrew. To what do I own the pleasure of this _highly unorthodox_ meeting?"

Sirius attempted to speak while simultaneously nursing the stich in his side, but only managed to get out a series of grunts before giving up and flailing his hand in James' direction.

Looking amused at his friends' states, James nonetheless turned towards McGonagall and assumed the role of the group's ambassador.

"Professor, we were wondering – Sirius, Peter and I, that is – if by any chance – if you happened to know – if –"

McGonagall interrupted him with a deep sigh. "Do you intend to say what you mean anytime soon, Mr. Potter, or are we to wait for my hair to turn grey?"  
It was probably for the best that Sirius was still struggling to catch his breath – if he had been capable of speech, he might not have been able to refrain from pointing out the professor's handful of already existing greys. The sharp look McGonagall shot him made him think she knew exactly what he was thinking – he couldn't tell if he was imagining the tiny bit of amusement on her face.

"Sorry, Professor," James said with a blush. In a brief moment of indecision, he bit his lip, glanced over at Sirius and Peter, and looked once more at his favorite teacher, before he took a deep breath and exhaled, "We want to know where Remus is."

There was a breath.

In that breath, many things happened.

McGonagall drew back just slightly in her chair.

Whatever amusement Sirius might have seen playing along her lips disappeared like it had been hit with a Vanishing Charm.

The lips in question flattened out into an almost imperceptible thin, white line.

McGonagall's cat-like eyes narrowed just the slightest amount.

The shifts were minor but absolute, and were definitely significant.

With the question, James had turned McGonagall to stone.

Then the breath ended, though their professor did not relax.

"I see." Her knuckles were a pale white, her hands clasped each other tightly on her desk. Almost to herself, McGonagall mused, "I had hoped – but no. It appears you have not…" Her words drifted away as her eyes inspected each boy with terrifying scrutiny.

Clearing his throat, James dared to ask, "We haven't what, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall's gaze snapped back to James, who gulped. Seeming to collect herself, she said coolly, "Nothing, Mr. Potter. Pay that no mind." She leaned back in her seat and continued to observe the trio. "Mr. Lupin is visiting his mother. She is ill. But you already know this, as far as I am aware."

Sirius had finally managed to catch his breath. "Well, yes, Professor, but–"

"But nothing, Mr. Black. I believe you have the answer to your question."

"Professor McGonagall, he told us he should be back on Wednesday – four days ago –"

"We wrote letters, but no one responded –"

"We're worried something's wrong –"

"And we thought you might be in contact with him –"

"Please, Professor –"

"We need to know he's okay."

In their rush to make her understand, their words had tumbled out of them like water from a jug, spilling over the air and empty space to reach McGonagall. When all the liquid had spilled out, she continued to inspect them – except now with a softer look – something akin to pity – gracing her features. Sirius hated pity.

Sighing, McGonagall reached into a desk compartment. Much to the boys' surprise, she pulled out a plate of biscuits."

Looking far older than she had when they entered the room, she gestured to the plate. "Have a biscuit, boys."

Peter reached forward and began to nibble on one, but both James and Sirius refrained.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak again, but was silenced by a look from McGonagall.

After what felt like an eternity, during which the words that had tumbled out just moments before evaporated into mist, McGonagall spoke.

"Your friend is perfectly safe, I assure you all. He was unexpectedly detained, but should be returning to Hogwarts within the week. You have nothing to concern yourselves with."

Unsatisfied, Sirius blurted, "But what detained him? Why is he still gone? Why didn't he respond to our owls –"

"Sirius." The name was uttered as a command. It filled its owner with dread. McGonagall never used first names.

"The older witch brought her hand up to massage her temples. When she spoke again, her voice was almost a plea.

"I know you boys are concerned for your friend, but – I strongly urge you not to pursue this. Remus is alright, but he may not be if you pressure him to reveal secrets he would _prefer to keep._ He has a right to his privacy – respect it."

The look McGonagall gave them sagged under its own weight.

"I promise you, Mr. Lupin is in no immediate danger, and will return soon. And I pray you will heed my words when he does."

There was silence before Sirius spoke.

"Of course, Professor. Thank you." His words were tight, strained, and unmistakably false, and Sirius, James, and Peter all perceived McGonagall sagging just a bit further into her chair when it became clear they had _no_ intention of dropping the matter. Closing her eyes heavily, she sighed once more, and said nothing as they stood to leave.

It was only as they reached the door to her office that she spoke again.

"I would ask you to remember you are toying with a life, Mr. Black. Mr. Potter. Mr. Pettigrew. And there are lines that, once crossed, cannot be restored. Be careful. For Mr. Lupin's sake."

Tension lingered and swirled around the room like the aftereffects of a spell as the boys each met McGonagall's gaze.

Then they walked out, and shut the door.

McGonagall, Sirius decided, didn't understand.

They couldn't drop this – they simply couldn't. _For Remus' sake_.

She should have known, Sirius thought.

He couldn't possibly let the matter rest now.

Not when she had said Remus was fine, said Remus was safe, said they didn't have to be concerned – and had been lying through her teeth the whole time.

* * *

 **(If some parts of the note below don't make sense, that's because I don't edit them from how they were originally posted on AO3, so the stuff about when I update doesn't apply.)**

 **I firmly believe that McGonagall BOTH really wanted James, Sirius, and Peter to learn about Remus so he'd have support, AND was very scared of them learning in case she'd misjudged them and they ended up hurting Remus. Either way, protective Minnie all the way. So, in case it wasn't clear, when she says, "I had hoped – but no. It appears you have not…," it comes from this part of her that kind of wished Remus had already told them, and just hadn't told anyone they knew, even though she doesn't really believe that's possible. And everything she says after is her attempts to protect Remus.**

 **I also firmly believe McGonagall was James' favorite teacher; you can't convince me otherwise.**

 **Aside from that, I have a tendency to get drawn off onto very long tangents, as I'm sure you've all noticed by now. I tell myself to BE CONCISE, and to move the plot along, and then I start daydreaming about how James and Sirius would react to pens and BOOM, there goes that plan. This story is already much longer than I was planning for it to get, mostly because of little detours like that.**

 **I have, however, mapped out a calendar of the events of the rest of the story, and I already know how it'll progress - for the most part. I don't write the story in advance; I post the chapters as soon as I finish them and build from there, so a whole lot could still change, but I do think I have a very solid idea of how the more important parts will unfold ;)**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed! Please leave reviews, as I love hearing your feedback. The comments I've gotten so far have been absolutely lovely, and I get this utterly ridiculous goofy grin every time I get the notification that lasts for ages, so it really does mean a lot.**

 **Thanks again!**


	7. Of Sleeping and Scars

**Chapter 7: Of Sleeping and Scars**

 **Forewarning; I wasn't able to thoroughly edit, so there may be a few mistakes. If you spot any, I'd really appreciate you letting me know, and I'll fix them as soon as I can :)**

 **Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Moonlight (Misery)

Screaming (Howling)

Scratching (Clawing)

Body (Prison)

Changing (Dying)

Death (Mercy)

Pain (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood).

* * *

Remus woke.

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

* * *

With a flutter of eyelids and a soft gasp, Remus Lupin returned to the body he had vacated for the night.

Waking after the full moon always felt… unnatural.

It wasn't like flipping a switch; one second the wolf was in control; the next Remus was – no.

After all, was that the nature of the moon?

There was not only full and new moon – there were stages, changes, the gradual transformation from blissful dark to penetrating light.

The tide did not hang back at sea, lurking in wait, only to rush in like a tsunami when high tide's time had come – it crept up the shore, inch by inch, second by second, breath by breath, until the water was high enough to drown you, without you even knowing.

And while Remus liked to say _he_ was absent during the change…well, that wasn't _really_ true, was it? Just as the moon might constantly change its face, but was still always the moon, Remus' bones could break, his skin could shred, his mind could melt away – but the wolf was still him, and he was still the wolf. Always. No matter what body he wore – the soul was the same.

So while he only erupted into the beast when the moon reached its fullest point, that didn't mean the beast wasn't always there.

And it didn't mean that when the full moon finally died away, Remus was just himself again, simple as that.

He could _feel_ it.

As he lay there, on a scratched and battered wood floor, his mind faintly registering the blood (the blood, the blood; Gryffindor red, how brave he was) that coated his hands, his arms, the floor, the walls – he could _feel_ it, still in him – still just slightly in control.

He had to wait, in the quiet, his panting breaths the only noises convincing him he was still alive, as he regained control, inch by inch, second by second, breath by breath, trying to fight back the terror that always came – that he would never be himself again.

And even the repossession of himself was misery, because as he rediscovered use of his eyes, his toes, his fingers, his hands, he rediscovered the pain that consumed every part of him.

He shuddered and gasped, still lying prostrate on the floor, as he acquainted himself with the new cuts and gouges and tears and rips and soon-to-be scars that had been birthed in the night.

He acquainted himself with the memories, too.

All the howls, the lashing out, the violence and mutilation he hadn't properly registered with his beast mind came back to him, in a slow-motion flood.

He squeezed bloodshot eyes shut and ground bloodstained teeth together as he tried to block out the recollections of _what_ he was.

He could never tell how long it took, how long he spent in his personal purgatory before the wolf was gone – or, as gone as it ever was.

When it was, he paused, his mind still hazy with pain, before he told himself to get up. Madam Pomfrey always told him not to, to just wait for her to come and help him, but Remus hated the idea of it – of her coming through the passageway and finding him, limp and helpless on the floor.

He was reliant enough on others already – needy, dependent, forced to pray for their mercy and kindness and _pity_ while always fearing it would not come.

He could stand alone, on his own strength, if he could not live in the same manner.

Gritting his teeth, he propped his weight onto his arm and made to get up – only to be met with pain sharper than a knife shooting through the limb. It pulled a gasp from him that devolved quickly into hacking coughs that set his chest and lungs and ribs on _fire,_ and his palm slipped on the blood-slicked floorboards and he thudded down, collapsing once again on the ground, and _oh Merlin, oh God, this was_ bad.  
The pain that his dazed, half-cogent brain had failed to fully register came now, rushing into him, paralyzing him, destroying him, and _it wasn't usually this bad_ and _what happened_ and _why, why was it like this_ and he was _screaming_ and it was _everywhere –_ everywhere, everywhere, _everywhere._

He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't _breath –_ not when his mind was dissolving to make way for the pain, and his eyes were blurring with tears of blood, blood that was escaping him through every crevice, and his cries were tearing though already _shredded_ lungs and a throat that could not form any words that were more vital than the breathless screams, and all he knew was the burning, white-hot _agony_ that tore through him, and it had _never been this bad before, never,_ andif Death took him then he would have thanked it with everything in him.

Everything in him.

Which he supposed was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Except pain.

So.

Much.

Pain.

* * *

Remus blacked out.

And he didn't die -

No matter how much he wanted to.

After all – when did the world give him what he wanted?

* * *

Remus did not wake again for fifty-nine hours.

During those fifty-nine hours, he slept, and his dreams were violent, nonexistent, and torturous in turn – for Madam Pomfrey was far too occupied at stemming the blood pouring out of him to concern herself with giving Remus any potions for Dreamless Sleep.

No matter the nature of his dreams, however, they all served to keep him quite firmly in the realm of the unconscious; and while a parade of figures bustled about the hospital wing, desperately trying to save the life of one Remus Lupin; and while his friends tore up the Library, desperately trying to discover the hidden truths of one Remus Lupin; and while stories flew in Hogsmeade village pertaining directly to said hidden truths of one Remus Lupin – that very Remus Lupin slept, and slept, and slept – and knew none of it.

* * *

It was a breeze that finally woke him.

It drifted through the window Madam Pomfrey had left open and made its way the short distance across the private room Remus always used in the Hospital Wing, to flutter across Remus' bruised arm where it lay above the covers, then to brush lightly at his brow. It was cool on his sweat-sheened skin, and the slight change was enough to startle him awake. He shot up, only to be incapacitated once more by the dull aftershocks of pain that rippled through him; coughing, he sank back down on the mattress, his head landing on the stacked pillows with a groan and a dull thud.

Madam Pomfrey, who had emerged from her office at the first signs of Remus' return to consciousness, was at his side in a second, fluffing his pillows and kindly (but still sternly) ordering him to, "Stay still Remus, that's it. You've endured some rather severe injuries this time; don't want to strain yourself; just lie back, good."

Remus, who was still quite disconcerted, only half-registered her bustling about his bed, until she was shoving a bubbling purple potion at him that he didn't recognize. "Drink – try and down it in one, if you can; it won't taste better if you wait."

Remus reached up to take the proffered drink and winced, both at the frankly unpleasant smell the liquid was emitting, and at the aching in his disturbed muscles. Pushing around the pain, and the offence to his nostrils, he downed the potion. Immediately, he began to cough violently – the potion had been uncomfortably hot and unquestionably _foul_ – but the coughs didn't tear apart his chest like they had back in the shack (Remus winced again at the memory), so he didn't complain. In fact, some of the more acute pains had dulled significantly upon ingestion of the liquid, and Remus let out a vague sigh of relief at the abating misery.

Madam Pomfrey noticed. "Better?"

"Much; thank you." But the statement was weakened by how scratchy and faint his voice was. Remus' brow furrowed – it sounded like he hadn't spoken for months – and he began to question exactly how bad the night had been. He knew it had been worse than normal, of course; he had been able to tell that the second he woke in the Shrieking Shack – but how much worse was _worse_ … and, come to think of it, Remus couldn't remember what had happened _after_ he woke in the Shrieking Shack… he couldn't even remember returning to the castle. Had…had he passed out? He must have. But then… how long had he been unconscious?

"Madam Pomfrey?" he tried to ask, but the words seemed to grate on his throat like knives and he couldn't continue. He tried coughing to clear his throat, but the coughs seemed to gain a mind of their own, and soon he was curled up on his side against shudders that left him practically immobile and he was hit by a wave of nausea that made him groan, and whatever that potion had done to dull the pain didn't seem to be working anymore.

"It's alright, you're perfectly fine, Remus; try not to move too much, remember? Focus on your breathing; in – out; Remus?" Even though his whole body seemed to be throbbing, he could still sense the faint notes of panic creeping into her voice. He tried to listen anyway, and forced his breaths to align themselves with the rhythm Madam Pomfrey sounded out.

It worked – slightly. He was still shaking a bit, and every part of him felt too weak to even consider moving, but the nausea subsided enough for him to uncurl from the fetus position he had collapsed into.

He straightened out on the hospital bed and could see barely suppressed relief in Madam Pomfrey's eyes. He must be bad, then. He had never seen the witch anything but unperturbed and no-nonsense, even when dealing with severe injuries – so for her to be so visibly affected…

The moment passed, and she was back to her bustling about. "Really, Remus, do try not to exert yourself." (That was another thing; she normally called him by his last name. Some sick sort of worry was twisting itself around Remus' gut.) "And speak _only when necessary_ ; your voice might take a while to heal." This sparked more alarm in the boy, and he tried to configure his features into a questioning expression she would understand as a request for clarification. Upon taking in said expression, Madam Pomfrey seemed to register Remus' growing panic and confusion, and her mouth twisted into a tight wince. "But, of course – you must be quite confused; oh dear."

She took a visibly deep breath and seemed to reorient herself. Her voice died away, and she finished preparing the potion she had been busy with. There was silence as she poured some into a bottle, which she thrust again at her patient in a wordless command to drink. He did, his hands clammy on the glass. This potion, he noted, was navy blue, and the relief that flooded through him upon drinking it was so profound he gasped. Muscles he hadn't even realized were tense relaxed, as did Madam Pomfrey's expression upon seeing his reaction. Thank Merlin for magic, Remus thought hazily, even though he knew the effect wouldn't be permanent. They never were.

"Better?"

Remus merely nodded in response this time.

Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied and sat down in a chair Remus hadn't even noticed beside his bed.

"Well that's good, at least." There was another brief pause. Remus felt too fatigued to turn his head and study her expression, but he sensed she was searching for words.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you this was a bad one." Her voice was soft, and it made an irrational part of Remus angry. Because he hated this – hated having to lie here on a hospital bed, broken, and depend on her to _fix_ him. He knew it was ridiculous – what, did he want her to leave? Did he want to _remain_ broken? Of course not. And his anger wasn't for _her_ anyway. He _was_ grateful… he just wished he didn't have a _reason_ to be. Growing irritated with his own nonsense, he tampered down the feeling and listened.

"You've sustained… extensive injuries. Nothing permanent, though, and nothing _too_ long-term, so at least there's that – though I'm sure that doesn't help much." Remus didn't respond, and Pomfrey didn't seem to expect him to. "Some of it isn't particularly out of the ordinary; cuts and bruises and the like." Here she hesitated again. "You – you _will_ have some new scars, I'm afraid. Quite – quite a few." This wasn't anything unusual; Remus could always be sure of _at least_ one new scar each month – but… something in her tone made him clench with anxiety. "And – well – some of the scars…" Her voice was faint, and Remus wanted to scream. She cleared her throat and seemed to steel herself against something particularly unpleasant. "They're – visible. _Quite_ visible – I minimized them as much as I could, but… there was only so much I could do."

Visible.

Well, Remus knew what that meant.  
If he was lucky, they would be on his hands, but he wasn't a fool. Pomfrey wouldn't be so _pitying_ if his hands were the body part in question; and besides, he had used both hands to clutch the potions. They hadn't been any more injured than normal.

So. His face then, or close enough to it.

And when he did focus his attention on it, he knew he was right. The pain there, dulled as it was by whatever potions flowed through his system, was more intense than it was elsewhere. And if he knew anything about Madam Pomfrey's nature, he knew she wouldn't be like this over some minor scratches.  
It was bad – it had to be.

His eyes fluttered shut in resignation.

Damn.

Remus wasn't overly vain – he left that trait to Sirius – who was part of the _real_ problem.

He knew he wasn't much to look at, and he wasn't a baby about his scars. He'd had them as long as he could remember; they were just a part of life. Werewolves couldn't exactly expect to go through their days without them, after all. So his jaw wasn't clenching and his gut wasn't churning out of some misplaced vanity – but out of dread.

It was easier when they were somewhere he could easily conceal – arms, legs, chest. But with _visible_ scars, came _questions._

Questions, from everyone – but mostly from Sirius, and James, and Peter.

Questions like: "Merlin, what the Hell happened to you?" and, "God, Rem, that looks pretty bad," and "What happened?!"

Questions, and lies – that none of them would believe.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

This was _not_ going to help dissuade their questions. That had been the plan, right? Come back all healthy, and act perfectly normal, and get them to _stop asking._

Right. Remus was sure that was going to go just perfectly now; _especially_ since – as he was just now realizing – he didn't even know how long he had been gone. But he was guessing it had been more than a day.

Bloody brilliant.

Madam Pomfrey had been quiet, likely waiting to judge Remus' response. Resigned, he turned to her, trying to keep his face impassive. Not wanting to deal with a lost voice on top of a clawed up face, he mimed writing, judging the last potion had helped enough so that writing out his questions wouldn't be _too_ agonizing.

Pomfrey seemed to have been expecting this, and handed him some parchment, a quill and ink, and a book to use as a solid writing surface.

 _Can I see?_

Might as well know what he was dealing with, after all.

He looked up in time to see Madam Pomfrey swallow and reach for a hand mirror. She extended it to Remus, and he ignored the way she was looking at him.

While part of him was already regretting having asked to look, he steeled himself and grabbed the mirror.

Try as he might to keep his face impassive, he couldn't quite keep from wincing.

There were five stark lines where his skin had been gouged out by what anyone could have told were claws, and which he knew were the result of one of the wolf's particularly violent attacks on its own face. Not unusual, but not normally this bad.

As far as he could tell, he had dragged one of his claws down his face. One stroke, and these were the repercussions. The damage was mostly contained to the left side of his face, and the cuts went from the top of his forehead down to his jaw. One claw had clipped his bottom lip, and it was a miracle (and what a thing to consider miraculous) that he hadn't lost his eye. Luckily for him, while his left eye had been in the paths of two claws, they hadn't cut further than the surface of his eyelid. The gouges had sliced deeper further down, though, and, he realized with renewed dread, they hadn't stopped at his jaw as he'd first thought. The path of destruction continued, curving and dragging its way straight across his throat and down past his right collarbone.

So that explained his voice, he supposed. His hand slowly lifted to trace along the path he had carved, and halted shakily above his Adam's apple. The damage had been worst at his throat, and he dully registered what would have happened had the wolf's path been shifted just an inch – putting his jugular directly in the way.

Seeing his pause, Madam Pomfrey spoke up. "Your vocal cords were cut through. I healed them, but… your voice might tire easily for a while, so you'll want to minimize speech, and drink plenty of water and tea with honey to avoid strain." When he didn't move to acknowledge her, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and continued. "I… I might be able to fade them some more, with time, but – I'm afraid they'll never go away completely."

But Remus had known that already, and didn't bother responding to the unnecessary confirmation. Instead, he gave a final squeeze with his jaw and handed the mirror back to her. Turning to his parchment, he wrote: _Any other major injuries?_

She accepted the topic change, to his muted relief. "A broken arm and leg, but I fixed those up already. They'll be sore, but not for longer than you're used to. There are some more scars elsewhere – the worst of them came dangerously close to your heart, but shouldn't cause more trouble than that… Let's see, what else… oh, yes; You broke a few ribs, and one did some damage to your right lung, but I've taken care of all that already. Mostly you'll just have to deal with aches and pains for a while, as well as taking care of your throat. Might hurt a bit more than you're used to, but I'll keep you here until I'm sure there won't be anything dire, and you can stop by every day for painkilling potions after you're out."

Pomfrey had reverted to a detached voice and expression as she listed his injuries like she was reading from a list, and that, more than anything, made Remus' fully register how close he had come to dying. A nearly sliced jugular vein. A nearly clawed up heart. A nearly punctured lung. And how close must he have come to bleeding out?

Trying to stem the shaking in his hand, he turned back to his parchment and quill.

 _How long since the full moon?_

"About two-and-a-half days."

He couldn't contain the shock that tore through him at that, and he shot up to stare at the witch, who immediately began scolding him for the sudden movement. It was only when he had been settled back once more on the bed that she continued.

"Fifty-nine hours, if you want an exact count. You were unconscious when I found you in the Shack, and haven't woken up since."

 _Fifty-nine hours._ Drawing some rapid connections, he concluded that it must be around late afternoon, early evening, on Friday. _Friday. And_ he'd have to remain in the Hospital Wing until Pomfrey saw fit to release him. _Merlin,_ his friends were going to _kill_ him.

 _Do you know why it was worse this time?_

He could sense Madam Pomfrey tense at the question. He turned to face her, and saw worry written plain as day across her face.

An involuntary shudder ripped through him. What _now_?  
"Well… it could have just been a fluke – perhaps some unknown fluctuation in the moon cycle, or something similar, or just plain bad luck, but… it is _possible_ that – the wolf is influenced by your emotions, thoughts, feelings… so, if something was affecting _you_ … it might pick up on it and be more… aggressive."

Something affecting him? Like what? But…

And of course. He almost wanted to laugh. Because wasn't it true, after all? That he had been more anxious than was normal over his friends discovering him? More stressed, preoccupied, _affected_?

So his friends' concern for him leads him to be frustrated, which leads to the wolf being more _aggressive_ , which leads to him being more injured, which gives his friends more to be concerned over, and more for him to be worried over, in turn.

What beautiful irony.

Perhaps, he thought, which a twist of dark humor, the cycle would continue, and get worse, and in a couple of months the problem would take care of itself. One way or another.

He might have laughed, or maybe cried, he wasn't sure, but Madam Pomfrey was still studying him carefully, so he just wrote out a hasty: _No idea what it could be. Nothing like that's up; probably just bad luck._

"I see," she responded, in a tone that made it _very clear_ she knew he was lying. But she didn't push it, and he was grateful.

She issued a few more instructions, along with a final one to, "Rest," before turning and leaving him alone in his private room.

Or, as alone as he every could be, with the wolf rattling about just under the surface.

He ignored it, as he always did, and settled back to sleep some more.

And his dreams were filled with images of scars and blood and claws.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this update!**  
 **Hopefully there weren't any excessively atrocious mistakes.**  
 **Also, this chapter was more intense than I expected!**  
 **I feel kind of bad for how mean I'm being to Remus... but that's probably not going to change anytime soon...yahhhhh.**  
 **Oh well!**  
 **Don't worry though, this story will get its happy ending.**  
 **Secondary disclaimer; I know absolutely nothing about anatomy or how injuries work, so if any of you do, please don't judge me too harshly if I'm horribly wrong XD.**  
 **If you liked this, please leave feedback; I love hearing from you all, and thanks for reading!**


	8. Of Rationalities and Reunions

**Chapter 8: Of Rationalities and Reunions**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for reading!**

* * *

There was silence in the second-year Gryffindor dormitory.

Three boys sat with their heads tucked deep into large, seemingly ancient books, only resurfacing to scribble down a few notes or for the occasional breath of air not entirely tainted by dust.

There was silence… and then-

A faint sigh came from behind a particularly vast tome entitled: _Encyclopedia of Magical Maladies: Volume 1 - From to Ailing Auras to Banished Buttocks; An In-depth Exploration._

The sound was greeted only with the sounds of rustling pages and the scratching of a quill on parchment. There was a moment's pause – and then another sigh, louder and more intrusive than the last.

Across the room, James Potter brought his hand up to massage his temples, which were _throbbing from a combination of too many hours spent holed up studying, and the tell-tale_ anticipation of frustration.

With all the foreboding of the parent of a very small child, who is fully aware they shouldn't give said child any attention, but isn't willing to deal with the child's nonsense anymore, he wearily responded, " _What,_ Sirius?"

Sirius had the bloody audacity to pretend he didn't know what James was talking about. "I didn't say anything."

The quiet was allowed to enter the room again, and it swirled through the air and had _just_ begun to settle before… a third sigh, this one abrasive and forceful enough to ruffle the pages of some of the open books.

" _What!?"_

The exclamation was punctuated by a thud as the large, hardcover book James had thrown at him hit Sirius squarely in the forehead.

" _Bloody Hell,_ Sirius. W _hat. Is. The. Problem?!"_

Sirius didn't respond to the question right away; instead he yelped as the book made contact and, after an indignant, " _OWWWW;_ _Merlin's beard,_ you _tosser_ – that was uncalled for!" he reached for his wand and levitated the nearest hard object – a hard-backed chair – in James' direction.

The Gryffindor leaped out of the way just in time, and the chair hit the wall behind him and shattered. James, crouched where he had landed on the floor, swiveled his head to first take in the lovely new scratch marks on the wall, then the splintered remnants of the chair littering the bed and ground, and finally turned back to Sirius. Peter, watching anxiously from the corner, attempted to interject a quiet, "Umm, guys, let's just – let's just stay calm – um – guys?" He watched as the two boys – who weren't paying him the slightest bit of attention – stared at each other, and saw their facial expressions change in tandem. James went quickly from indignant shock to fierce anger as Sirius, who had chucked the chair on instinct, began to realize what had happened and reverted into mild panic.

"Now – James – let's be rational her –"

He couldn't finish, as James let out a loud roar and threw one of the broken chair legs back in Sirius' direction. Sirius, registering that the time for reasoning was gone, jumped out of the way – and so began the Legendary Projectile Battle of '72. Both boys flung whatever they could levitate at each other, while Peter watched, frozen, in the corner, eyes swiveling back and forth to follow the violent tennis match. The thuds and bangs echoed throughout the Gryffindor dormitories, and as the boys fought, they yelled.

"RATIONAL? YOU THREW A CHAIR – AT MY HEAD!"

"ONLY BECAUSE _YOU_ THREW A BOOK AT ME!"

"BECAUSE YOU WOULD _NOT_ – SHUT – UP!"

"OH, WELL _EXCUSE ME_ FOR _BREATHING!"_

" _OH DON'T PLAY DUMB –_ YOU DON'T NEED THE EXTRA STUPID! YOU WERE _WINING_ , LIKE A _BLOODY BABY!_ HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO RESEARCH ANYTHING ON REMUS WHEN WE CAN'T FOCUS!? YOU HAVE BEEN _POUTING_ FOR _DAYS,_ AND FRANKLY, I'M SICK OF IT!"

" _ **WELL WHAT DO YOU EXPECT!?"**_

The shout surpassed any that had come before and ushered in a moment of pause. Sirius, standing on top of their desk, slumped back against the wall as defeat flooded over him. His voice was weak when he spoke again.

"It's _Tuesday_ , Jamie. He's been gone for _seven days_. _No one_ is telling us _anything_ – McGonagall walks around looking perpetually worried while she avoids us, Dumbledore won't talk to us – and in the meantime we sit here, doing endless research that gets us _nowhere_ , and which, _frankly,_ could be _completely pointless_ , because _for all we know,_ Remus is _dead!"_

The anger had crept back into him as he spoke, and his final words were met with one final bout of violent magic, as he levitated Peter and hurled him through the air, in James' direction.

The sandy-haired boy let out a high-pitched shriek as he flew across the room, hands outstretched and flapping about, and collided bodily with a shocked James, who half-heartedly lifted outstretched arms in a vain attempt to halt the collision, only to be bowled over and land precariously in a jumble of curses and limbs –

And this was what Remus Lupin saw as he opened the door and entered the second-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory for the first time in a week.

* * *

They didn't notice him at first - James was too busy trying to extricate himself from a profusely apologizing Peter and simultaneously yelling and cursing at Sirius for his horrendously incompetent coping methods, and Sirius was too caught between mild apology (because, alright, maybe throwing Peter was a step too far), more than mild amusement (because it had been rather funny, even so), and general frustration (because he hadn't forgotten the cause for his initial outburst) to notice the unobtrusive figure standing in the doorway.

It was Sirius who noticed him first.

He wasn't sure what had caught his attention – perhaps there was some magical element to it, this pull he always felt to his Remus – but one second he was chuckling out a wry apology to a peeved James, and the next he was going quite still and turning to face the door with his lungs feeling far too tight in his chest.

And there he was.

 _Remus._

He stood, almost uncertainly, halfway out of the room, still engulfed somewhat in shadow, a look of bemused consternation crossing his features as he took in the spectacle that was James and Peter.

And _Merlin_ , it was really him.

Sirius couldn't control the emotion swelling up in his chest; couldn't prevent how it was engulfing him in waves of concern, joy, irritation, _relief_ – such _all-consuming_ relief.

"Remus?" The name came out breathless and unsure, hopeful and disbelieving. It drew James' and Peter's attention, and they too stared, shocked, at Remus, but Sirius hardly noticed them, because his voice had called Remus' attention to him, and he was staring into the amber eyes he hadn't seen in a week and there was something so remarkably _fond_ in Remus' _for once_ unguarded expression as he returned Sirius' greeting with a quiet, "Hi." His voice was soft, maybe a little weak, but it was his, and Sirius couldn't stop the huge grin that was exploding onto his face – that it, until James spoke up.

Having finally disentangled from Peter, he stood and, with a level of concern he reserved for family, cautiously said: "Remus – welcome back, mate, but – where have you been?"

And that was the trigger. The question had entered the room with Remus, to wait in the corner until James dragged it forward, and now it stood in the center of the room, impossible to ignore. With it came all the frustration, the worry, the anger that had swelled in Sirius for the past week, and the grin that had risen at Remus' bidding was collapsing into a thin line.

Remus changed at the mention of his absence too, his momentarily relaxed state disintegrating and making way for the walls he never seemed to take down. In a second, his shoulders had tensed, and Sirius could almost _feel_ him withdrawing from them – but this only lasted a second, and soon enough Remus was letting out a forced chuckle and responding with, "Hello to you to, James, Pete. And what, I'm gone a week and you completely lose your head? I was at home, remember?"

He still hadn't fully entered the room.

James took a step forward, the lines in his forehead deepening as he did so.

Sirius was frozen.

 _Something was wrong._

"Right," James said, with forced lightness in his tone; "But you said you'd be gone a day or two, Rem."

"And it's been a week," piped in Peter oh-so-helpfully, because it wasn't like they were all _unaware_ of that particular fact.

"We were worried about you," came his own quiet admission.

Another harsh, barking laugh from Remus.

"Yah, well; had a – a bit of an accident, I suppose. My own fault, really."

"Accident?" Sirius' voice was sharp now, and his heart had lodged itself in his throat.

"Remus, what happened?" James kept his voice steady, a feat Sirius couldn't even begin to imagine achieving. "Are you alright."

"I'm fine, really; St. Mungo's fixed me up."

"You went to St. Mungo's?!" And now his heart had abandoned his throat and was ricocheting about his ribs. James shot him a warning look, an unspoken: _calm down_ , and repeated, "Remus, _what happened_." It wasn't a question this time, and Remus _had_ to hear the difference. James was rarely serious, but when he was, he was nearly impossible to dismiss.

Sirius could feel Remus' inhale, the deep breath he sucked in before he stepped into the room, and they could see him clearly for the first time.

Or more specifically, see the left side of his face.

And _Oh Merlin_.

Oh _God._

 _Oh God._

Sirius couldn't look away.

He thought he heard Peter gasp, from some distant far away place, and James might have inhaled sharply, but he could only stare.

Stare at the new scar that traced itself down Remus' face, coming so close to his eye and, Sirius realized, feeling sick, must have come so, so close to slicing his throat.

He knew Remus had scars; he wasn't blind – but he couldn't remember a single one being this bad.

Forget him being gone a week – Sirius wondered he hadn't been in the hospital for a month.

Part of Sirius was registering the tight grimace on his friend's face; how he was looking down and away, resolutely staring at the ground, how his fists were clenched and his shoulders were tensed and his eyes were half-closed against whatever onslaught was to come.

"Remus." The name was a desperate exhalation, a plea, but its owner didn't look up. Sirius took a few halting steps forward, almost against his will, and while he couldn't imagine what he looked like in that moment, James saw the torment, the turmoil, the torture written plain across his face, and it broke part of him – though he'd never tell Sirius that.

Sirius, who was far too busy being broken in turn.

Remus seemed to register his approach and lurched into movement – his long stride carrying him away from Sirius and to his bed, which he fell more than sat on. He dropped the bag he'd taken with him on the ground and sat with his scars facing the wall and eyes still trained on the ground.

No one spoke.

Until –

" _Remus._ " Again from Sirius, but this time softer, smaller, shattered. He might have made to speak again, was drawing in breath to do so, but Remus cut him off.

"It's nothing – looks worse than it is, I promise."

James stepped in, still with that rare gravity that he wore like a suit to a wake.

"Are you sure? Because it looks pretty bad, Rem."

"Is that so, James? Hadn't noticed." There was such tension, and at the same time such a forced flippancy in his voice, his voice that was scratchy and tight and weak, like music coming out of the broken Muggle radio Sirius had fished out of a dumpster a few years back and tried to enchant to work around magic – before his mother came into his room and chucked it at the wall, where it sparked and scattered and sprang apart. When only silence met his words, he sighed, and spoke once more. "It was stupid, really. Dad and I – we were at home, back from visiting the hospital. Mum wanted us to get some decent rest, so we'd planned to sleep a few hours before going back. I couldn't, though – sleep, that is; just kept thinking about Mum, so I went out; wanted some fresh air. Well, we live in a pretty secluded area – our backyard's edged by a wood – so there can be animals about, sometimes, and there – there was this dog out. Big one; seemed wild. I guess it had been living in the woods, or ran away, or something; I don't know. Shouldn't even have been there – stupid, like I said. But I guess it caught my scent, and it – attacked. Leapt on me before I could run back inside, and, well..." His words drifted off, and he made a vague gesture to the marred side of his face. "Dad apparated us to St. Mungo's, got me checked in, and they healed me – best as they could, anyway. Didn't take long, but they made me stay for inspection to be sure."

And with that he looked up at the three of them – still not quite making eye contact but facing them all the same.

And Sirius couldn't quite tell why, but that same undefinable sense that had told him Remus was _not okay_ was ringing through him now, whispering and screaming – and what it said was: _lie, lying, lies._

James voiced one of the questions that had been pounding with Sirius' heartbeat, his eyes just slightly narrowed behind his glasses.

"A _dog_ did that?"

Remus' eyes finally snapped to meet James', and they each stared inscrutably at the other.

"Yes," came the eventual reply, and it was spoken as a challenge – a, _do you really want to push this?_

James didn't, apparently, so while his eyes flashed with some unspoken thought, he merely pushed his glasses back, ruffled his hair, and let the challenge fade away. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself, and when he spoke again that protective gravity was gone – or at least, stashed away for the time being.

"Sorry, mate. That's a rough time – but you're going to be alright?"

Sirius had watched the relief flood through Remus when James stepped down, saw his hands unclench and his shoulders drop.

"'Course. I'm fine – or will be in a day or two. And it's just a scar, right? No big deal."

"If you say so. Welcome back, Remus – we're bloody glad to have you."

But that wasn't good enough for Sirius, so while James merely went about packing up the books they had been studying (which was probably a good idea, to do that before Remus saw the odd titles and started asking questions of his own), he choked out a, "No."

And silence reigned sovereign again, as Peter ceased to breathe and James' shot daggers with his eyes and Remus turned once more to stone.

He looked Sirius straight on, the look on his face a shadow of the one he had possessed that night Sirius had questioned him in the Common Room – and maybe that should have cowed him, but he had never known when to stop, and he didn't now.

"Remus, come on – you can't _honestly_ expect us to believe a bloody dog did _that_ –"

"It was a big one," came the deadpan reply – but Sirius could hear the panic clawing at the edges, and that little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like James was screaming at him to _drop it,_ but he plowed on all the same.

"Rem, we're _not_ stupid, and we're _not_ blind. Just _tell us_ , _please_. We've been _so worried_ , this whole week, and you come back looking like a _chew toy_ , and –"

" _Sirius_." Remus drew out his name like a plea, like a prayer. " _Please_." He wasn't looking at Sirius anymore – he was staring at his hands. His hands that were once more clenched into fists, fists he was hunched over like a child in the fetal position, and Sirius could feel his voice die in his throat. " _Please_ , drop it."

And while Sirius wanted to protest, wanted to fight this, wanted to scream questions and accusations and wanted to beg for the answers, for the truth, because Remus was lying to their faces and _dammit_ , he wanted to know what the bloody hell had happened to him – he couldn't force the words out, not when he had been so relieved to drop the subject with James, not when he had said his name like _that_ , not when he didn't know how to deny Remus anything on a good day, and certainly not when he looked so... broken.

So he said, "Okay," instead, and Remus collapsed back once again, like a puppet whose strings had been sliced.

" _Thank you_."

And then the walls were up again, and Remus was reaching for a book inside his bag, and Sirius was drifting aimlessly around the room, helping James pick up encyclopedias, and Peter was sitting on his own bed, the relief he felt at the end of the argument plain on his face, and the short boy was asking, "So how's your mum doing, Remus?" And Remus was answering him and it was just another evening, just another hour, just another day.

Sirius was still shattered.

Remus was still lying.

And they were both still hurting - for reasons that were at once remarkably similar and radically different.

And the sun was setting, and the moon was rising once more in the night sky, counting down with its path the nights to Remus Lupin's destruction –

 _And_ the days to his salvation – to a promise fulfilled – though he had no way of knowing that.

Not yet, anyway.

But soon.

Soon.

 _Soon._

* * *

 **So Remus is back; YAYYYYYYY!**  
 **This one was rather fun to write - though my pathological need for drama is beginning to concern me...**  
 **Oh well!**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this one, and if you did like it, please leave feedback!**  
 **As I said, I will try to take less time on the next one - which will be sure to contain even more Remus feels.**  
 **Because I'm evil.**  
 **Thanks for reading!**


	9. Of Gratitude and Groans

**Chapter 9: Of Gratitude and Groans**

 _Everything_ ached.  
Every bone, every muscle, every limb seemed deeply nestled in the dull aftermaths of pain.

Remus moved to turn the page of the book he was pretending to read and had to fight to stifle a groan at the throbbing that shot through his arm. The last thing he needed was to accidently inform his roommates of the true extent of his injuries – not when they'd only barely agreed to drop the topic of his scars.

He was beginning to regret leaving the Hospital Wing so early. Madam Pomfrey had wanted him to stay _at least_ four more days, but with every hour he spent holed up in his private room, he could feel himself going crazy. He couldn't stop the images that raced through his head – scenes of painful, question-filled reunions that only got worse the longer he stayed away; memories that haunted his nightmares and his days; all accompanied by that ever-growing feeling of helplessness, and the anger that came with it. So he had begged her to let him leave early and lied through his teeth when she asked him how he felt, and she had finally agreed to let him go, with the strict condition of him stopping by twice a day so she could fill him up with potions, and the insistence that he come to see her _at once_ if _anything_ felt wrong.

Well, _everything_ felt wrong, but he hadn't been about to tell her that.

So he had left the Hospital Wing in the evening, long after most classes had ended, and spent the entire trek up to the Gryffindor Common Room praying that he wouldn't run into anyone, that his friends wouldn't ask questions, that he wouldn't have to waste anymore of the days his body could actually feel somewhat normal (days that were already far too rare) on memories of the horrible days it felt like anything but.

In some ways, he supposed, he had been lucky; he had run into no one in the halls, and when he had entered the Common Room, only one person had occupied it. Lily Evans had sat alone by the fire, furiously scribbling on a large piece of parchment.

Her attention seemed rather focused on it, and for a second Remus had thought he'd be able to make his way up to his dormitory without her noticing – but at that moment a loud bang echoed from the boys' dormitory tower, accompanied by muffled shouts, and she had startled and swung around to glare in the general vicinity of the noise. Remus could have sworn he'd heard her mutter something along the lines of, "Bloody Potter, bloody stinking Black, bloody incompetent tossers," even though she had had no _real_ way of knowing it was them (not that Remus thought otherwise), before her eyes shifted their focus and landed directly on him.

The glare had softened and widened at once, into a look of complete shock – and perhaps something else, too, though Remus didn't know what – and she'd risen immediately from her seat and softly exclaimed, "Remus!"

He didn't respond, and she hadn't said more – instead he'd stood awkwardly before her, the flickering light from the fireplace casting odd shadows over both of their faces, and waited.  
He'd waited with a tense stance and eyes that couldn't break her gaze, no matter how much they wanted to, and with lungs that didn't seem to want to breathe.

He'd waited as he saw her emerald eyes (the ones James had so often waxed poetic about) drift away from his amber ones to trace over the left side of his face and heard the soft gasp that seemed to draw all the oxygen out of the room.

He'd waited for the inevitable exclamations, the questions and demands that were sure to come – and while fielding concerns from his friends was bad enough, he thought doing the same when they came from Lily had the likelihood of being far worse. Because she was as stubborn as any of them, and had the added qualities of possessing far more sense, and being, quite frankly, terrifying when angry.

So he'd waited, fully aware she would buy none of his stories and terrified of what she would do.

He'd waited… for nothing.

None of it came – no questions, no demands – just a look of deep sadness that momentarily possessed her features before she shook it away and met his eyes once more.

With a small smile that, to his great surprise, seemed genuine, if dotted with sorrow, she'd merely said, "It's good to see you back. How's your mother?"

This too took him by surprise, as he'd forgotten Lily knew about his mum (or, that she knew the lie). But, of course, he had told her once. The two of them were actually quite good friends (a fact that tormented James to no end, and that he often tried, and failed, to exploit), and had been ever since Remus realized he could actually get work done when he studied with her, and she deemed him, "Not as horrid as Potter and Black." So they studied together often, and once, while engaged in a conversation about the intricacies of pure-blood lineage and its consequences, she had asked him about his own family. Not wanting to tell her the truth (which would have gone rather a bit like, "Oh, yes, well, my dad probably still kind of wants to have me put down, and barely ever talks to or even looks at me, save to grumble under his breath after he's had enough to drink about how I've ruined his life and his career, and my mum can't even look at me without starting to cry, so yah, we're just a _perfect little family_ ; thanks for asking!"), he had instead blurted out the usual lie – "My mum has cancer and I have to visit often," – which had the added benefit of allowing him to quickly change the topic and ask about her family instead.

But even though she knew the story, the last thing he'd expected after disappearing for a week and coming back with a huge scar occupying his face was for her to calmly ask after his mother's status.

While Remus stood frozen, momentarily distracted by his mild crisis, Lily had returned to her seat and resumed writing, seemingly content to wait for a response (and if Remus hadn't been so distracted, perhaps he might have heard how rapidly her heart was beating, or noticed the slight tremor in her hands – but of course, he saw nothing of the sort).

Remus had recovered quickly enough, however, and after a quick clearing of his throat, he'd responded with, "She's doing alright, thanks."

The statement was met with a slight head nod and, "Glad to hear it." Then, before Remus could even begin to think of what to say next, Lily had shot out of her seat and said, "Oh! Before I forget," before she darted to open her schoolbag and started pulling out stacks of parchment. Spinning around once more, she had done some rapid spell-work to duplicate them, and then thrust the newly made stack into Remus' hands.

"I know you'll probably get the notes you missed from Black, Potter, or Pettigrew; but frankly, I've seen their notes before, and thought you could use some legible ones. Besides, an extra copy can't hurt. I included information on all the assignments you've missed, too, and if you've got any questions, feel free to ask."  
She had said this all with a warm smile, and Remus had felt his own expression shift into a grin for the first time in a week – albeit a small and slightly taken aback one.

"Thanks, Lilly – you really didn't have to do this –" But she'd cut him off with an eye-roll and a mild snort.

"It's just notes, Rem; not my first-born child."

And Remus, almost giddy then (because she was looking at him as if the scar wasn't even there, and hadn't asked a single question he hadn't wanted to answer, and Merlin, there really was something quite wonderful about Lily Evans), had let out a breathy chuckle almost against his will.

Gingerly putting the notes into his own bag, he'd joked, "Thinking about children, are we? I wonder what James would have to say to that."

Lily had narrowed her eyes into an expression of mock indignance, but there'd been a sparkle in her eyes that revealed the humor behind it.

"Not _Potter's_ children, and if you speak one word to him to suggest _that…"_

She'd trailed off, the implications clear enough, and Remus had chuckled once more and threw his hands up in joking surrender – which was a mistake. Pain had rippled through him at the sharp movement, and he couldn't hold back a gasp of pain.

Sorrow had flickered once more through Lily's eyes, but she'd said nothing, and thinking about it now Remus felt gratitude flood through him once again. Some unspoken thing had passed between them then, some mutual understanding, and there'd been another exchange of soft smiles before the moment was broken by more bangs and shouts from above. Lily had broken his gaze to glare once more at the entrance to the boy's dormitory, though the glare was softer that time – more irritated than enraged. Remus mildly thought James would have been delighted at the change.

"I should probably get up there before they blow the whole place up," he'd said with a sigh.

Lily had given a general hum of agreement. "Probably. And _I_ should probably get back to writing this potions essay." She'd turned to him with a smile again. "It _is_ good to have you back, Rem."

He'd responded only with a faint smile, before turning to leave the room. As he had, he'd been able to feel the walls within him rise again – he may have been wrong about Lily's response, but he wouldn't be wrong about the response of his other friends. But just as he'd been about to start up the stairs –

"Remus!"

There'd been something he couldn't decipher in Lily's expression, once again. She'd stood, illuminated by the dim light which had made her hair seem to glow even more than it normally did, and she'd seemed to debate what she would say next. When she had spoken, her voice had been soft.

"They were really worried, you know. This past week."  
He hadn't had to ask who she was speaking about, and his eyes had begun to dart about the room, unable to meet her own.

"Yeah?" was all he'd managed to say.

"Yeah. They really care about you. We all do. You know that, right?"

And something about the way she'd said it compelled him to look at her. He'd swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he'd been caught off guard by the surprising feeling that he might cry.

"I know."

"Good."  
And then it had been over, and she was smiling again.

"Good night, Remus."

"Good night, Lily."

And he had left.

Her words had still been ringing in his head as he'd opened the door to his room, and he hadn't been able to help his fondness – though it was tinged by slight exasperation – at the sight of Peter flying through the sky and colliding with James.

But whatever peace had seeped into him after talking to Lily was quick to flee once he was faced with the reality of his friends, and their questions.

All of their questions.

He could feel his throat begin to ache again, and started to regret the conversations he'd shared with Lily and his friends. He'd known he couldn't get away with not talking at all, but he'd underestimated how quickly his words would usher in the raw ache. While he knew he should have just told them he wasn't supposed to speak, he'd felt like he had to offer them _some_ explanation for his absence – even if it was all lies.

He'd known they wouldn't buy his story about a dog attack – Peter might have, but James and Sirius would never have fallen for it – but at least he'd said something.

And… that hadn't been the only reason he'd pushed words past the pain. Doing otherwise would have meant explaining the situation with his vocal cords to his friends, and he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. Diminishing their perception of the damage was the easiest way to avoid more confrontation. Despite this, he was starting to regret his decision – he might need to figure out some way to install a kettle in their room, or how to sneak down to Madam Pomfrey or the house elves for tea.

So while maybe just telling them would be wiser, he'd gotten them to drop the topic (eventually), and now he just sat, reading a book he couldn't have identified for the life of him, and merely prayed to whatever could be out there that they wouldn't pick it up again.

* * *

Some time passed, but none of the inhabitants of that particular dormitory seemed at all interested in sleep, and so they each sat on their respective beds and spent the time in their own ways.

Remus, finally abandoning his book, turned instead to pull out the notes Lily had given him and began to read through them. She really had been thorough – more so than he suspected she usually was – and he felt once again that peculiar gratitude that always infected him whenever he was faced with the realization that he had friends. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how on Earth that had happened.

He hadn't expected his dormmates to notice the shift in his reading material, but James attention had been caught – as it always seemed to be whenever Lily was involved.

"What's that, Remus?"

His question caught Sirius and Peters' attention, and soon all three of them had eyes on Remus again.

"Oh, Lily was in the Common Room when I got back – from St. Mungo's, that is." He hoped none of them had caught his brief hesitation – he'd almost forgotten that he'd told them he'd been in St. Mungo's, and not the school Hospital Wing. (The latter would have been too suspicious, and too easily disproved if any of them had happened to visit the Hospital Wing in the past week – because how would he have explained the private room he'd had there since First Year.) Not wanting to give them time to notice his stumble, he barreled on. "She gave me a copy of her notes; thought I might like some I can actually read." The latter part was tacked on with a wry smile, and all three boys flashed sheepish grins, unable to deny the truth of the statement.

"Well here, can't hurt, anyway," and Sirius tossed a thick pile of parchment onto Remus' bed. Remus could distinguish the handwriting of all three of them on various pages, and knew they'd kept their earlier promise of taking notes for him – as Sirius and James usually just didn't bother.

"Thanks," he managed to say against another onslaught of emotion (which was ridiculous – who got emotional over _notes_?)

Flopping back onto his bed, James let out a groan. "How did you get her to _like_ you?" Shooting back up, he appealed to Sirius and Peters' judgment. "What did _he_ do that _I_ didn't?"

"Pretty sure it has more to do with what he _didn't_ do, Jamie. Like how Remus _didn't_ turn our dormitory into a swamp whilst trying to impress her – and how he _didn't_ go irritate her with the story later that day." Sirius gave James his signature lopsided grin as the latter boy once again fell back on his bed with a moan.

His friends weren't about to leave it there, though.

"Or how he _didn't_ charm all of her parchment to say, "Lily Evans and James Potter would have beautiful children!" every time she tried to write on it!" Peter's enthusiasm nearly toppled him off his bed.

"Or how I _didn't_ bribe the house elves to write _J.P + L.E_ in edible gold on all the food sent up to the Gryffindor table."

"Hey, you guys helped with that," was James' muffled response.

" _Tsk_ , making up stories, James?" Remus asked with a straight face, focused entirely on Lily's notes on the healing properties of Mandrake leaves.

Sirius broke out in laughter at the indignant glare James shot him, and even Peter cracked a grin at James' following dismissal of them as, "traitors, the lot of you."

Sirius responded to this by snatching James' glasses off of his face.

For some reason, Remus, Peter, and Sirius all thought this was hilarious, and all three started cracking up, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"I hate you all."

This only gave more fuel to the cackles, and their volume rose and rose… until they were interrupted by Remus' hacking coughs.

In a second, the joviality died away, and Remus was aware of six concerned eyes trained on him.

Desperate to play off the fit as trivial, he attempted to stifle the noise with an elbow – only to pull it away and find blood on his sleeve.

Peter let out a squeak.

"Remus! Are you okay?" Suddenly Sirius' had mounded onto Remus' bed, clearly attempting to help, and woefully unaware that his action had done anything but – for he had jostled Remus in his movement, and the boy couldn't trap the sharp cry that ripped through him _and_ _dammit things had been going alright for once before his body decided to betray him again._

Remus didn't register he'd yelled, "GET OFF ME!" until some of the pain had subsided and he could feel his words echoing in the shocked silence. And then he could feel something warm and sticky – something suspiciously like blood – dripping down his throat. Perfect.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up with his fist from where he'd fallen on the bed. Bracing himself, he turned to face the trio.

They stared, the terror in their eyes meeting the jaded bitterness in his.

Remus couldn't have said what he looked like – but he could taste the remnants of blood spatter on his lips and knew it couldn't be good.

He tried to speak, to explain, to dismiss, but the mere thought of using his voice sent shudders rippling through him once again, and he had to gasp as spots flooded his visions. He thought he saw Sirius move to lift a hand, to come forward, to do _something_ , but he halted in Remus' peripheral and he was glad for it.

Eventually he recovered enough to lift his head once more, and this time he reached for a piece of parchment beside him (he regretfully noted that Lily's carefully ordered notes had been scattered around the bed and floor – but that was a mess for another time) and motioned for something to write with, which James hurried to get him.

"Remus? Are you –" Sirius tried to start, but Remus gingerly shook his head and the boy kept his questions veiled beneath silver eyes.

Later, Remus would question where James had gotten the pen he handed him, but in the moment he was far more relieved at its convenience and, being sure not to make many sudden movements, started to write on a black portion of the parchment.

 _I'm okay._

Best to start with that, before Sirius lost all semblance of patience. He could hear a general release of breath behind him, where all boys had moved to stand so they could better view what he wrote.

"You're sure?" James asked, in the level-headed tone he only ever assumed when all others had reason to lose control.

 _Yes._

And he was – he'd dealt with worse often enough to know when something was life-threatening.

While he'd have liked to leave it there, he knew that would never pass, so he added more.

 _Dog sliced vocal cords._

And here, an inhalation that sucked back in the air that had just been released. Before they could interject, he continued.

 _Fixed it at St. Mungo's, but not supposed to strain voice. Spoke too much._

" _Remus…_ " The groan was Sirius', and it contained enough regret and disappointment to make Remus inwardly flinch. " _Merlin_ , you idiot, then _why did you speak?_ "

"Sirius is right," James added, uncharacteristically stern. "You should have let us know – we wouldn't have made you talk."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Peter sounded terrified, and Remus felt another pang of guilt. This was hurting them, too.

 _Not a big deal._

He could sense Sirius' anger at that, before he even spoke.

" _You're coughing up blood –_ What do you _think_ qualifies as a _big deal? DYING?_ "  
" _Sirius…_ " The low rebuke came from James, and its message was clear. _Not now._

"How can we help, Remus?" The fright lingered in Peter's voice, but he seemed determined to live up to the expectations of their house. Remus admired him for it – he himself hadn't felt brave in a long time.

Sirius and James had refocused at their friend's words, and Remus knew they'd do whatever he asked.

And while he debated writing them to do nothing, to let him deal with it –

 _Tea. Please._

"Okay," James said, taking charge. "Sirius –"

"I'm staying here." There was no room for negotiation in Sirius' voice, and James knew it. Sighing, he said with resignation, " _Fine._ " A moment of indecision before; "Peter, how fast can you get there and back." Remus assumed, and rightly so, that James was torn between sending Peter, who could cross less distance on his shorter legs, and himself, which would require leaving Sirius without a babysitter.

Peter straightened up out of Remus' view, and responded with, "Give me fifteen minutes."

Nodding, James grabbed his invisibility cloak from its brilliant hiding place under his pillow and threw it to Peter. "You'll need this. You know the way?"

Peter, who made the trek down to the kitchens almost daily, merely nodded, before flinging on the cloak and running down the stairs, torn between speed and stealth.

Still in business-mode, James prompted, "What else, Remus?"

 _That's all._

A beat of silence, before…

"You're joking." Remus could hear the frustration building once more in Sirius' voice. When he didn't reply, his friend let out a noise rather close to a growl.

" _Remus,_ last I checked _tea_ doesn't heal _shredded vocal cords_!"

 _I have potions to mix it with. I'll be fine._

Sirius might have said something else – probably something loud and angry – but James cut in.

"Remus… I really think you should visit the hospital wing."

If Remus had been possessed of his vocal facilities at this point, he probably would have shouted, "NO!" before James even got a chance to finish. Instead, he forced himself to take a breath before writing:

 _No, I'd rather not. The potions I have are enough._

He couldn't go back to the Hospital Wing. If she realized how much healing Remus still needed, Pomfrey would never let him leave, and he would go insane if he had to go back so soon. He'd be there in a few weeks, anyway – any sooner than that and he wouldn't be able to bear it.

One of them started to speak – James or Sirius, Remus couldn't tell – but he cut them off with another scribble of his pen.

 _I'm sick of hospital beds._

That brought silence, and Remus knew how pitiful he must seem to them. But better to sacrifice his pride if it made them give in.

Some tense moments passed, before the two of them let out identical sighs, and Remus felt the relief flood through him at their acquiescence.

"Okay. Okay, Remus, if you say so." James' voice was heavy, and Remus again felt that pang of regret for the burden he inflicted on them. He was glad when Sirius followed up to his friend's statement; Remus much preferred the fierceness in his voice.

"But if you start coughing up blood again, we'll carry you to the Hospital Wing."

He stomped over to his bed without waiting for Remus' response.

"Where are the potions, Remus? And don't you dare say you can get them."

Deciding he'd pushed them far enough already that evening, he merely wrote out:

 _Bag. The blue vials. Pour one into the tea._

Remus could feel the exhaustion seeping through him, a combination of too many restless nights, his weak muscles giving out from too much exertion, and the sheer mental fatigue his lies bred in him. Tossing aside the parchment and his pen, he turned and sank down on his bed, to wait for Peter.

He came soon enough, bursting red-faced and panting through the door, Invisibility Cloak hanging halfway off his shoulders, after precisely fourteen minutes. Unable to string together coherent words, he merely thrust the tea to James and plopped, face-down, onto his own bed.

Remus suspected he was asleep within a minute, and his soft snores began to fill the air.

James, meanwhile, poured a vial of potion that glowed electric blue and brought a strong smell of eucalyptus into the air in the tea, before gently handing it over to Remus.

Bringing the cup up to his lips, he downed it in one, and almost moaned at the relief it brought him. He softly cleared his throat, and when no blood bubbled up, he gave James a quick nod.

He considered saying thanks, but Sirius shot him another fierce glare when he opened his mouth.

"Don't you even _think_ of speaking right now, _Lupin_."

The use of his last name made Remus wince – he hated making any of them mad, but it was always worse when the anger came from Sirius.

James let out a long-suffering sigh, apparently fed up with his friend's trademark temper.

"Look, we should all probably get some rest. We have classes tomorrow, and – no offense, Remus, but you do kind of look like crap." Then James winced, and tacked on, "Not because of, you know," with a gesture to his own face. "Just – you look tired, is all I meant, not –"

"He knows what you meant, James." And Remus hated how flat Sirius' voice was.

"Right. Well, good night, Remus. Sirius."

All Remus could manage was a nod in response, and after he swept the rest of the notes still on his bed onto the floor, to be dealt with in the morning, all the boys were soon lying in their four-poster beds, listening to the sounds of Peter's snores.

Remus had almost managed to drift off, but then…

"Good night, Remus."

The words were quiet, whispered, really, and they came from the bed closest to him.

Sirius' voice was faint, but it was unmistakable.

"I'm glad you're back."

And with that, Remus fell into the first proper sleep he'd had in a week.

* * *

 **I really enjoyed exploring Lily's character in this one; I absolutely love her, and adore seeing her friendship with Remus, so I hope I did both justice.**  
 **Aaaaand then I was mean to Remus again.**  
 **This really shouldn't be a surprise at this point; like I said, I'm evil.**  
 **But I added in some fluff - microscopic amounts, maybe, but it's there! And there will be more eventually, I promise.**  
 **Hopefully there weren't too many grammar errors; I know some of my tense is probably off, so if you see anything glaring, please point it out and I'll be sure to fix it :)**  
 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this update, and thanks, as always, for reading!**  
 **And if you did enjoy, please consider leaving feedback! It makes me smile :D**  
 **Thanks again!**


	10. Of Fury and Flies

**Ch. 10: Of Fury and Flies**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks again to everyone who's left feedback for this fic; your support means a lot to me :D**

 **With this chapter, I have caught up on FFN to where the story is at on AO3. This means that, from now on, updates will take longer than a day. However, I update as soon as I finish writing a chapter, and I try to be as fast as my schedule allows. I hope you don't mind the delays too much, and that you'll keep following!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Sirius could hear the whispers.

They flitted through the air like irritating flies someone had accidently allowed to enter, and they hummed and buzzed and darted about, disturbing the peace of the usually laid-back potions classroom where Sirius and his friends sat, awaiting the start of class.

Sirius shot a glare at the table to the left of him, where some particularly nosy Slytherins were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Remus, who was seated diagonally across from Sirius and next to James.

Quite like flies indeed, he decided.

As the whispers grew, and as some particularly bold specimens began to point over in their direction, Sirius thought, anger building up within him, that he would rather like to swat them.

In his defense, the anger wasn't on his behalf – It was on Remus'.

These intrusive, good-for-nothing bastards were murmuring and whispering about his best friend, and Sirius was about two-point-five seconds away from hexing the lot of them. He probably wouldn't have held out this long, save for the fact that he had been given _strict orders_ from James to not react, or retaliate, or do any of the other _perfectly reasonable_ things he _felt_ like doing.

And quite honestly, usually even that wouldn't have done anything to stop him… except Remus had given him _that look_ when he'd shown signs of protest – that _infuriating_ look where he was all pleading and quiet and long-suffering – and Sirius had never been able to resist when he looked like that. Especially not when, only the night before, he'd seen Remus' features twisted in a radically different expression – one with eyes closed tight against waves of pain, and a forehead dotted in beads of sweat, and a mouth twisted in an ugly, blood-stained grimace.

That was really the only reason he was holding his tongue – why, all through breakfast that morning, and through their Charms lesson after that, and through the past ten minutes they'd spent sitting in this dungeon, waiting for Professor Slughorn to turn up, he had resisted the ever-growing urge to jump on top of the nearest table and shout, "OI! So what he's got scars – he still looks better that all you lot combined, you ugly, pig-faced bastards! Learn to mind your own damned business, and PISS OFF!"

But his patience, which tended to be strained on the best of days, was rapidly waning.

And it probably didn't help that he was angry at Remus, too.

Angry at him for lying to them.

For showing up after a week with a piss-poor excuse and a shredded face.

For talking, like a bloody fool, instead of telling them he couldn't.

For coughing up blood and refusing to go to the Hospital Wing.

For trying to act like this wasn't a big deal.

For _terrifying_ Sirius.

Sirius was angry because Remus was just sitting there, like he had the whole morning, eyes dutifully trained on his desk as he pretended the world was devoid of flies. As he pretended the tossers around him weren't pointing, and staring, and clutching on to rumors like they were lifelines; rumors about what gave him the scar, how he'd gotten it, if he had others. As he refused to do anything to make them stop.

And Sirius was angry because, even when he _wanted_ to be mad with Remus, even when he _wanted_ to rage and yell and scream in his face – he could still be silenced by a look from him.

He was angry because he _couldn't_ be angry with Remus – couldn't bring himself to be.

And it pissed him off.

So with all this anger pooling inside him, and with no healthy way to vent, he supposed it was only a matter of time before he snapped – an event which would likely end with someone getting a fist to the face. Preferably Snivellus.

As Sirius sat, stewing and refusing to engage in James' and Peter's debate over Quidditch teams – which Remus couldn't be a part of because he had been expressly banned from speaking, and which Sirius refused to be a part of because he had been petulantly giving all three of his dormmates the silent treatment (James, for telling him not to inflict bodily harm on their classmates; Remus, for reasons already addressed; and Peter, because if he wasn't talking to two of them, he might as well not talk to any) – Slughorn finally entered the room, a splendid seventeen minutes late.

"So sorry I'm late," he called out as he entered, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Was just returning an owl to Barnabus Cuffe… you may soon be familiar with the name; he was just made junior editor of the _Daily Prophet_ … yes, I foresaw a great future for that boy when he was a student of mine, and I daresay no one would contradict me now!"

Slughorn's rambles were doing little to halt the class' chatter, and Sirius couldn't help but wish they were in Transfiguration – McGonagall wouldn't stand for this, he was sure.

But no, they had Slughorn instead, and he didn't seem at all interested in shutting down the conversations that were making Remus inspect the desk like the grain of the wood was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen as the red flush coating his cheeks spread down to his neck.

He might have spoken up, interrupted Slughorn's story, said something that almost certainly would have wound him up in detention… except Evans beat him to it.

She was, admittedly, far more sensible about it than he would have been – she merely raised her hand, effectively cutting off Slughorn's story, and, when he called on her, said – as if she hadn't interrupted him at all – "Professor, does that cauldron up front there contain Swelling Solution?" And because she was one of Slughorn's _chosen few_ , he just smiled, undisturbed, uttered a pleased, "Why, it is indeed, Miss Evans! Very well done," and awarded ten points to Gryffindor.

While normally, this would have irritated Sirius – would have sent him off on a mild tirade about Slughorn's blatant favoritism, and Evan's apparent need to show off – there was something about the way she did it, some unspoken implication in how she steadfastly did _not_ look over at their table, how she'd raised her voice _just_ loud enough to startle the class into attention, that made him realize she'd done it for Remus. Done it to shut the flies up.

To be quite frank, he'd never really liked Evans. Couldn't understand James' obsession with her; never really saw the appeal. She was friends with _Snivellus_ , for Merlin's sake – was sitting with him right now! – and that didn't exactly do wonders for his faith in her judgment.

But, when he realized what she'd done to help his friend just now – and when he thought about how she hadn't batted an eye at Remus when she greeted him that morning, or how, at breakfast, she'd fixed one of her icy glares (so often trained on James) on Marlene McKinnon when she'd tried to ask Remus about the scar, until the girl had fidgeted uncomfortably and changed the subject – he felt a warm surge of affection for the red-head.

And when he noticed the faint smile on Remus' face – the first one he'd seen all morning – that warmth spread just a tad more. Perhaps James had a point, after all.

In any case, Evans had achieved what Sirius had been desperate for, and it was on with the lesson as Slughorn began describing the properties of swelling solution. By the time he had dismissed them to collect their ingredients and begin preparation, the flies with their short attention spans had moved past the topic of Remus and onto that of preserving their grades.

At least… most of them had.

But as Snivellus passed their table on his way to grab some extra puffer-fish eyes, he made sure to quickly hover over their workspace and sneer, just loud enough for the four of them to hear it, "Too bad Slughorn isn't teaching us any potions to heal scars – seems like _some of us_ could benefit from that."

In an instant, any of the warmth Sirius had felt was dead on the dungeon floor. So what Evans wasn't a complete prat when it came to Remus; that didn't redeem her choice in friends – not when said _friend_ had just made Remus go uncomfortably still where he sat.

And as the warmth fell away, back came the anger that soaked his every pore, and the rapid influx was enough for him to finally snap.

Sirius had pinned Snivellus' head to the desk before he could register the movement. With a tightening of his fingers on the snake's neck, he snarled, "And too bad Slughorn isn't teaching us any potions to make _greasy gits_ like you keep their overlarge noses _out_ of _other peoples'_ _business_! Seems like _some of us_ could _benefit_ from _THAT!_ "

Several things happened at once; Slughorn began to protest loudly from the front of the classroom ("Now wait just a minute, Mr. Black, this is quite uncalled for –"), Evans shot out of her seat and began attempting to yank Snivellus out of Sirius' grasp ("What the hell, Black?!"), James cursed and tried to aid Evans, while also berating Sirius ("Sirius, this _isn't helping_ ; what did I tell you!"), and Peter stood to the side, looking on anxiously.

But it was Remus who stopped him.

With a strength Sirius would never have believed the boy possessed, and which he was still having some trouble coming fully to terms with, Remus had stood and yanked Sirius' hand away from where it clutched. Snivellus reeled back, falling firmly onto the floor (and Sirius mildly noticed Evans spared a disgusted glance at his prone figure and made no move to help him up), while Sirius himself staggered back a few steps from the force of the motion.

With a stormy gaze fixated on Sirius, the amber-eyed Gryffindor merely said, "Enough." His voice was quiet, perhaps a little rougher than normal from the abuse to his vocal cords, but it was firm nevertheless. And it left no room for argument.

With his piece uttered, Remus merely sat down, and resumed work on his potion as if nothing had happened.

There was stunned silence, before the flies began to buzz again, their attention caught once more.

Slughorn, who had been utterly useless for the whole event, sputtered back into action now.

"Mr. Black, what explanation can you possibly have for your actions?!"

Snivellus, who had stood up once more, glared at him, but it was the unspoken message Remus' stance sent him that made him say, "No reason, Professor."

"Well, I'm afraid I must give you detention – two weeks' worth, I should say. Now, er – Mr. Snape, do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Snivellus didn't answer, just sneered at Sirius once more before spinning around and stalking back to his seat.

"Very well then," said Slughorn, who seemed quite flustered by the whole situation. "I suppose – back to work!"

Sirius sat back down, tried to ignore the whispers, and felt acutely that he was no longer the one ignoring his friends – it was quite the other way around.

Pushing it out of his head, he searched around for something else to focus on – and his attention caught once more on Evans. The Gryffindor, he saw, had returned to her seat by Snivellus… but didn't seem intent on staying there. In fact, she was engaged in what appeared to be a rather heated argument with the greaseball – an argument in which most of the whisper-shouts were coming from her – as she simultaneously packed up her cauldron and all her ingredients. With a face almost as red as her hair and one final scathing look, she hefted up her belongings and flounced across the room to plop them unceremoniously on the table where the other female Gryffindor second-years sat – the table which just so happened to be the one directly in front of Sirius & Co.

Her friends hastened to make room for her and bring an empty chair around, and soon Evans was back to work in her new location. Slughorn, as well as most of the class (other than Remus, who kept his head firmly down and his scars firmly in shadow), had watched this little transfer, but seemed at yet another loss as to how to deal with it. His solution seemed to be simply not to, and with an almost comically helpless gesture, he sank back down behind his own desk.

It wasn't until the class had settled back down into some semblance of focus that Evans turned around to face them.

Without sparing a glance for James, Sirius, or Peter, she gently nudged Remus' shoulder, her face simultaneously gentle and fierce, and quietly told him, "I heard what Severus said to you. He was way out of line; I'm sorry."

For about the first time since they'd sat down, Remus lifted his head from the fascinating desk. He turned enough in his seat to look Evans in the eyes, and his face was impassive, neutral, cool; but there was something lingering beneath it Sirius could barely make out. It looked vaguely like pride, but might also have been fondness, and could have passed for resignation as well.

"Why apologize? You didn't say it; and besides, he's not wrong." Remus' voice was as quiet as Evans' had been. It was steady, and blunt, and contained not an ounce of self-pity. It also, Sirius was surprised to note, sounded like a challenge. It was that aspect of it, that barely-there hint of steel, that kept Sirius from jumping to protest what Remus had said, or the fact that he had strained his voice at all. Instead he sat, rather stunned, and waited on Evans' reply.

She narrowed her eyes just the tiniest bit. It wasn't, as far as he could judge, out of anger, or irritation, or any of the other emotions that drove her to glare at James. It wasn't even really a glare. It was… an assessment; a calculation.

And then Evans was darting forward to place a light kiss on Remus' cheek, right below his eye and directly on top of his scar.

Sirius barely heard James' splutter of indignation; he was far too busy listening to the white noise roaring through his head as something twisted in his gut.

It lasted a second, and then Evans was pulling back, a cheeky glint in her green eyes to challenge the surprise in Remus' amber ones. For an instant that felt like an hour, they looked at each other, and something passed between them then that Sirius couldn't begin to understand.

"You deserved an apology, and _he_ wasn't going to give you one, so I did. And he _is_ wrong. I think you look dashing." Her fierceness had returned, full-force, for the first part of her declaration, but by the end the cheek was back, and her mouth was caught good-naturedly between a smile and a smirk.

And then the steel he had detected in Remus flooded away completely, and there was a warmth in him that Evans mirrored back.

"Is that so?" Remus replied, his voice dripping with dryness. "Dashing, am I?"

"Quite," said the red-head with another smile.  
And once more the frivolity faded away, and Remus looked at her with a sincerity that made the crowded, noisy classroom feel entirely separate from the two in their intimate bubble. "Thanks, Lily."

His voice was genuine, and soft, and the two of them were acting as though James and Peter and Sirius weren't even there and Sirius felt sick.

Evans smiled, and turned away, and then Remus went straight back to working on his potion.

The whole thing had lasted maybe a minute, and had been so unobtrusive that even Evans' tablemates weren't asking questions. It hadn't been showy, it wasn't like the kiss had been particularly romantic, or had been _anything_ other than _entirely_ platonic, but… still.

Could Remus…could he _like_ Evans?

But no – no, that was impossible, and Sirius _knew_ that. _James_ liked Evans, and Remus' behavior had never indicated he felt anything but friendship to the ginger. Even James himself, who was now protesting the injustice of the entire interaction to their table – quietly, as Sirius was sure he knew Evans wouldn't be too pleased to overhear him – didn't appear in any way envious of Remus, or angry, or even suspicious. He was light-heartedly claiming Remus had betrayed him, but no heat lingered behind the words whatsoever, and Remus didn't appear bothered in the least by the accusations. Mostly, his three friends just seemed relieved that they'd moved past the whole mess with Snivellus.

So with a shake of his head, Sirius refocused on his potion, determined not to think about it anymore. (And if part of him registered that maybe, he had been just a tiny, microscopic bit jealous of Evans… well, nobody needed to know.)

Instead, he sank back down into the bitter irritation he'd been feeling for his friends all morning, and continued to petulantly ignore them (or be ignored by them; he really couldn't tell which) for the rest of the class.

It wasn't until they were exiting the classroom that he got over his irritation, for the first time that day.

* * *

Slughorn had stopped Sirius to say he'd send a note with the details of his detention, and when Sirius turned around and walked into the hallway, he found Remus waiting for him, alone.

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Remus pulled out a pad of parchment and wrote, angled so Sirius could read it, _I told James and Pete to go ahead._

"Oh," was all Sirius was able to manage.

There was a beat of silence, and he tried to think of what he could say.  
Remus beat him to it.

 _Are you going to keep being an idiot?_

Sirius almost snapped.

He almost let his lip curl into a snarl, almost shouted at Remus that _he wasn't the one being the idiot, thank you very much._

Almost yelled that he wasn't the one lying to his mates, or acting like _Evans_ was his best friend.

He almost did.

But then he looked at Remus' face.

There was some deep anxiety there – some fierce terror, hidden behind a raised eyebrow and set jaw.

And Sirius felt the guilt hit him like a hex.

He searched for the anger that had filled him just moments before, and found it completely gone.

Because, while part of Sirius still wanted to be angry with Remus, a larger part of him – the part that wasn't petty and terrible – had finally woken up and realized that, right now, Remus needed him to be on his side.

He had come back to school after a week away, and during that week he had almost died.

 _Died._

And now he had new scars, and everyone was staring at him and whispering behind his back, and he could barely talk or he'd start coughing up blood, and _who cared what had actually attacked him_ when he was looking at Sirius like he was _terrified_ he was going to abandon him.

Which was ridiculous, and could never truly happen. But apparently Remus didn't seem to think so, and that was Sirius' fault.

There was a lot Sirius could have said – and a lot he probably should have made Remus know – but he looked his friend in the eye, and they came to an understanding of their own.  
"I'm sorry," Sirius said, and he meant it. "I was a git."

And then he was hugging Remus, gently, because he had seen how stiffly Remus was walking and knew those scars couldn't be the only part of him that was a little worse for the wear, and Remus was hugging him back.

"I'm sorry too." And Sirius didn't have to ask what for. Remus' voice was rough again, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to scold him for talking.

And then they let go, and there was more that needed to be said, but it could wait, and they hurried to catch up with James and Peter and made it to their next class just in time.

And if Remus wanted to lie to them about what was really going on, that was fine, Sirius decided; he could tell them he was attacked by a pygmy puff, and it wouldn't make a difference.

Because sooner, _not_ later, Sirius was going to find out what the truth was.

And then he'd do whatever was within his power to make sure Remus _never_ worried Sirius would abandon him again.

* * *

 **So there it is!**  
 **The subtext is strong with this one - mostly because Sirius is a transparent idiot.**  
 **I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter; there are parts of it I really like; but something about it is just bothering me a bit. But I worked on it a while and figured this was as good as it was going to get, short of me taking a long break to gain some perspective, which is probably less efficient than just posting as-is so I can move on.**  
 **So that's what I did.**  
 **I hope you guys still enjoyed it, in any case, and hope that you'll leave a review and let me know!**  
 **Thanks again for reading!**


	11. Of Leaving and Losing

**Ch. 11: Of Leaving and Losing**

* * *

"Boys, if I may have a word?"

Professor McGonagall's curt voice rang out across the classroom, reaching across to Remus, James, Peter, and Sirius just before they managed to make their escape out the door.

Though the words had been phrased as a question, there was no way even Sirius, with his notorious disregard for authority, would have dared refuse her. And while her statement had been ambiguous in who exactly it addressed, not one person who heard it – not the last stragglers making their way out the door, or the four Gryffindor boys who had frozen in place – would have questioned who she was speaking to.

If Professor McGonagall called for the _Boys'_ attention when the Marauders were in the room, she was calling for them. No exceptions.

And usually she had good reason – but, this time, there wasn't one. Not one they knew of, in any case. Even Lily, who would normally have been throwing James a haughty look, pleased he was getting his comeuppance, only shot one of confusion at Remus, as she couldn't imagine what McGonagall wanted to discuss with them.

Still lingering by the door, they traded equally perplexed glances… or, at least, three of them did. Remus was far too caught in bleary-eyed exhaustion to care, at the moment. Nightmares had haunted him the full three weeks since his return to his dormitory and classes, and had been highly effective in preventing him from getting more than one or two hours' worth of sleep each night. This fact, coupled with the lingering aches and pains from the last full moon, _and_ the lethargy and anxiety that were overtaking him as the next drew near, served to keep him dazed, distracted, and, more than anything, drained.

So drained, in fact – (so mind-numbingly, soul-shatteringly tired, so exhausted and weary down to his very bones) – that almost everything had faded away into triviality.

There was the moon.

There was the wolf.

There was the pain.

And that was all.

Everything else was the cherry on top of his misery sundae, where the ice cream was Remus and the syrup was blood, and there wasn't a speck of chocolate in sight.

Everything else was window dressing, and frankly, Remus didn't give a damn.

(Or, at least, he was trying not to.)

(Because if he could just manage not to care – if he could convince himself that it _didn't matter_ that in the last few weeks, more and more often he had found himself quite alone, as his three best friends huddled together in various corners of the castle, very much without him – if he could tell himself that it was unimportant that the last seven times he had entered the dormitory and found Sirius, James, and Peter lost in one of these huddles, with books stacked about them and notes strewn across beds, they had jumped apart at the sight of him, guilt and discomfort staining their features, and murdered their conversation fast as a curse before they awkwardly tried to revive it – if he could make himself believe that it made no difference that they hated him now; that they were a sick of him and as tired of him as he was of breathing – if he could fool himself into thinking that he didn't care that he was no longer their friend _(and of course he wasn't; it was a wonder he ever had been; monsters don't get friends_ ) – then maybe it would stop hurting. Maybe he could stop crying himself through moonlit hours that evaded sleep under cover of thick blankets and silencing charms. _Maybe_ , if he could just tell himself he _didn't care_ enough times, he would start to believe it, and it would start being true, and he would stop feeling the loneliness eat away at him more than the wolf ever did.)

So Remus didn't know why McGonagall wanted to speak with them, and with emptiness filling him to the brim, there was no room left for him to wonder. He simply stood next to his friends (because they'd always be his, even if he would never again be theirs – and maybe never had been – _but no, he knew he had been –_ he _had_ to have been – just not anymore). And he let them wonder as the classroom emptied completely and the four of them shuffled up to McGonagall's desk.

It was Sirius who spoke first, and while he may have been cautious enough not to refuse McGonagall's demand to speak, his wariness did not extend much further than that.

With the carefree, charming grin no one could pull off quite like Sirius could, he matched eyes with their professor and asked, "And to what do we owe the pleasure of this lovely meeting, my darling Minerva?"

McGonagall did not respond to his query, instead electing to stare blankly at the silver-eyed boy with a single raised eyebrow, until even his normally unshakable grin began to waver.

James, sharing his friend's newfound anxiety, attempted to elicit a more promising response.

"Err – Professor – what exactly was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but Peter, who had been quivering in fright since she first called for them, could not prevent the plea of, "We didn't do anything!" that escaped him.

Turning her attention to him, McGonagall raised her eyebrow even higher before she spoke. "Precisely so, Mr. Pettigrew."  
The statement left even Remus slightly confused, and quick glances were traded once more in the moment before their professor spoke again.

"Since the four of you first stepped foot into Hogwarts, hardly a day has gone by that has not born unfortunate witness to some prank of yours, or other such mischief."

This statement was unexpected, but not untrue, and it spurred in the boys emotions ranging between worry, sheepishness, smug pride, and indifference.

McGonagall, for her part, had said it all with an air of dry exasperation.

"However," she continued, "For what is nearing the last three weeks, there has been nothing of the sort. No professor or student has reported you causing any trouble; even Miss Evans has not had a single complaint. And while I do appreciate the reprieve, I would do so even more were I not concerned that it is merely the calm before the storm. So if you are planning something particularly extravagant... I would request that, whatever it is, it does not become a nuisance to me. Am I understood?"

There was, once more, a rapid exchange of glances. This was most odd indeed. For Professor McGonagall to pull them aside, not because they had done something, but because they _hadn't_? For her to suspect them of more sinister plans, but only to ask that they not inconvenience her? It was quite unexpected.

Though perhaps the uncharacteristic bred more of the same – for it was true that the four of them had neither planned nor executed any mischief for a relatively long while.

Not to the best of Remus' knowledge, anyway.

But of course, he thought (and he was bitterness incarnate as he did), he hadn't truly spoken to them – ( _they had been avoiding him_ ) – for about that long.

So perhaps something was being planned – just not something that warranted Remus' inclusion.

With a slight chuckle and a try at a cheeky grin, James ventured, "Well, Professor, we make no promises."

"Can neither confirm nor deny, and all; you understand," heaped on Sirius, and his grin was a bit wider (and almost imperceptibly more strained.)

Peter looked vaguely terrified, but McGonagall merely looked at them as though she couldn't decide whether to be amused or unimpressed.

She settled for both, and said with a sigh, "Of course. Very well, you may go."

And that appeared to be all – only just as they began to turn away, she continued, "Except, Mr. Lupin? If I may have a word with you?"

And when none of them moved, she narrowed her eyes behind spectacles and added, "In private, if we may?"

But still, no one moved.

"Er – Professor – what do you need to speak with Remus for?"

The words were not Remus' – he didn't care one way or another – they were Peter's, and they were tiny and hesitant and petrified, but they were still there.

Remus didn't know why Peter was asking, and wasn't particularly interested in finding out. He felt oddly caught – a fly trapped in a net, unable to do more than wait.

That was really all he was doing, after all.

Waiting... For the end.

So he didn't care why McGonagall wanted to speak with him, or if Peter wanted to know why (because if he cared about that he'd have to care about _everything_ ), and so he just kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

And he waited.

McGonagall's nostrils flared in response to the question – a telltale sign of danger.

"I _believe_ , as a Professor at this school and as head of Gryfindor house, I have the right to speak to one of my students without being questioned. Or do you disagree, _Mr. Pettigrew_?"

Her words were scathing, and Peter barely managed to squeak out a stuttered no in response.

McGonagall seemed to think the matter settled, but still, all four boys remained.

" _Is there a problem_?" Her lips were going quite thin. Remus mildly thought that his friends were very stupid.

"But Professor, you've got to see –"

"Remus hasn't been feeling well."

Where Peter tried to tread lightly, Sirius and James climbed atop elephants and stampeded through the conversation.

"Well I'm sure Mr. Lupin appreciates your concern, but I assure you that he will not keel over and die the minute you leave the room."  
And of course he wouldn't. If that were true, he'd have died many times in recent days.

Maybe in another world, Remus would have wondered why his friends were frantically trading furtive glances.

Maybe he would have wondered what they were implying when the said he wasn't feeling well – and the small part of him that remained awake was curious (and partly terrified) about how much they had noticed.

But the larger part of Remus knew that anyone who looked at him could have seen the exhaustion in the dark circles under his eyes that were as deep as a well, and could have read his unrest in the hollow gauntness of his cheeks. So he didn't even bother to turn his head as a final harsh glance from McGonagall finally prompted his friends to leave the room.

"We'll wait outside for you, Rem."

The words came to him from the door, and his anger came in a spike that scared him.

"No, don't bother."

He hoped his tone was unreadable when he responded. Better that than for them to catch sight of the monster as it tried to claw out of its cage.

He couldn't hold back all of the bitterness, though. Not when they had practically ignored his existence for almost a month, only to now act concerned in their teacher's presence.

"I can make my own way back up to the Common Room."

And Remus still wasn't looking at them, so he didn't see them flinch, and he didn't see Sirius open his mouth to say more (say something, say _anything_ ), before James and Peter pulled him out.

Then the door closed, and only he and Professor McGonagall were consuming the air.

"How are you doing, Remus?"

Her voice was soft, concerned, pitying, and she had called him Remus.

She only ever called him by his first name when they were alone; when they were talking about _it_ ; when she was sickly sympathetic and far too sad.

"I'm fine, Professor," was his flat response.

He wasn't looking at her as he said it – merely in her direction.

His eyes followed a speck of dust in the air as it hovered above her desk.

Just beyond the speck, McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Madam Pomfrey is on her way. There are some things she wishes to discuss with you."

Remus merely nodded, and waited for the Professor to release the words clearly darting about on her tongue.

"Are you ready for the full moon?"

Would laughing be an inappropriate response?

He supposed as much, though he couldn't really see why – if she was going to ask ridiculous questions, why shouldn't he respond in turn?

But no – McGonagall meant well, and she was trying to help, and she didn't hate Remus on flawed principle which was a miraculous thing in its own right, so Remus did not laugh.

Instead, he observed the dust mote as it made a sharp turn in a gust of wind, and said, "I'll survive."

He meant it to be a sort of joke, but it fell flatter than a piece of Muggle paper and left the air feeling far too heavy.

His teacher seemed to do battle for a moment, and then her next question burst out.

"Remus, is everything all right between you and your friends?"

He had not expected this.

He said nothing.

But he felt quite a lot.

The room was too small, too hot, too cold, too much, and he wanted to leave, and he wanted to escape, and he wanted to scream and he wanted to cry.

He said nothing – and then he spoke.

"We're fine, Professor."

He could hear the detachment in his voice.

Its calm made him feel sick.

' _We're fine_ ,' he'd said.

McGonagall did not seem to believe him.

"Remus, please. You've all been so quiet, and you look... If you tell me what's wrong – I just want to help you." This statement was ridiculous too, but Remus no longer felt like laughing. "Remus –"

And Remus was dissolving where he stood and here he could listen no more.

"I said we're fine, Professor. Really. I'm just a bit tired." (And Remus wondered how many times he could say he was _fine_ when he was so plainly anything but.)

His voice seemed distorted to his own ears and the silence filled the room like a lurking beast.

When she spoke again, desperation was fringing the corners of McGonagall's voice.

"It's worse when you're stressed, Remus. If you could just –" Her voice dies away, killed by the bitter laugh that escaped Remus' lungs like a caged animal.

He hasn't meant for it to happen, but honestly, what did she _expect_?

Did she think he _enjoyed_ being stressed? Being anxious and panicked and _terrified_?

Did she think he _liked_ not speaking to the only people he'd ever truly considered his best friends?

Did she think he _wanted_ to be plagued with doubts that they'd ever given a damn about him at al?

Did she think he could solve it _easily_? That he could wave his wand and be _okay_?

He knew she didn't – knew she hated seeing him hurt; knew she just wanted to help – but Merlin if he didn't just need her to stop talking.

Of course, she didn't.

"Would it really be _terrible_ if they found out?"

And now her voice was quiet. Or, at least, it couldn't be heard over the desperation that was now banging down the door and stomping on the ground and screaming to make itself known.

But Remus couldn't stand for this.

" _Yes_."

The word was vicious poison.

The dust speck was spiraling to the ground.

"Remus, can you _honestly_ believe they would abandon you for it?"

The look he sent her was full of so much affronted disbelief that she flinched.

"I didn't mean - I meant _them_ , Remus. Others, yes, are too misguided to see past their own prejudices, but –"

" _Misguided_?"

There was no rage.

He didn't have it in him.

"Professor - can you look me in the eye and tell me that, out of all the teachers in this school that know about me, at least three-quarters don't think Dumbledore is _mad_ for even letting me attend school? Could you really tell me that there aren't some - aren't _many_ \- that don't think you'd all be better off if I was put down?"

She looked him in the eyes, at least.

And the remorse in hers was immense.

Remus knew she couldn't deny what he had said - not when some teachers would glare at him the moment he entered their vision; would sneer and stare and do everything short of revealing his secret, and that only because Dumbledore had made it clear that any staff member who did so would promptly be sacked.

"They can't know." And he was adamant.

 _They can't know... (I'm already losing them)_

There was still that same helpless desperation in his teacher's eyes, but it was chained away now.

"Okay," she said. "But if I can help, please let me know."

Remus didn't have anything to say to that, and in a rare stroke of luck, he was not obliged to respond, as the next moment saw Madam Pomfrey darting into the room.

"Oh, good, you're here."

She bustled up to stand by Professor McGonagall's desk, then turned to Remus. Her expression was controlled, but only just.

"How are you feeling, Remus?"  
He was getting so, so tired of that question.

Remus didn't even bother to answer it, this time. He just looked at her, and waited.

"I see." And her concern was prevalent and profound.

With a nod of her head that spoke of getting down to business, she hurried the conversation along.

"Well, I think it's obvious to us all that the last full moon took quite a toll on you, and, unfortunately, you aren't quite as healed as I'd like you to be going into the next one."

Remus found a new speck of dust.

This one was trailing a lazy spiral through the air.

"As it is, there's not much else we can do – at least nothing I'm willing to risk. But, I think we should try to restore your health as much as possible before tomorrow night, so I'd like you to go to the Hospital Wing right after breakfast on Thursday. That'll give us the whole day to try and achieve some last-minute progress."

Thursday.

 _Two days away._

Nightmares were still haunting him from his last transformation, he was still coughing up blood at the end of a long day in which he forgot not to speak, he still walked with a harsh limp, and the scars on his face were as pronounced as they had been the day he woke up in the Hospital Wing.

And in two days, he was going to have to do the whole damn thing over again.

No wonder the two women before him looked so concerned, so terrified.

Perhaps he should be terrified, too.

But he was just so, so, _so_ tired.

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey," was all he said. And then, "Was there anything else?"

Pomfrey and McGonagall exchanged nervous glances, and then the latter sighed.  
"No, Remus. That's all. You may go."

And so he nodded, and left.

The door slammed behind him, and if he hadn't been what he was, that would have been the end of it.

But despite their familiarity with his situation, neither Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall truly understood all that being a werewolf meant.

Namely, that his senses were stronger than a non-lycanthrope on a good day, and that, on the days leading up to the _worst_ day, they were even better.

So neither the heavy wooden door that remained firmly closed behind him, or the growing distance as he turned and slowly walked down the corridor, prevented Remus from clearly hearing ever word being exchanged in the room he had just vacated.

"He's not doing well, Poppy."

A heavy sigh, and then, "I know, Minerva. _I know_."

The sounds of two bodies sinking down into chairs.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

A pause filled with more meaning than words could have conveyed.

"He's not healed enough – if there was more _time._ "

"The moon won't wait for us, Poppy. And – it's not just that; I mean – did you _see_ him?"

"Is everything alright with him and the others? They've all been so…"

"I don't know. I really don't."

And then, hushed and hurried and wondering everything Remus lived in eternal fear of: "You don't think they – they don't _know_ … do they?"

"No, I don't think so. And I have to hope that if they _did_ , they wouldn't… well. I think it must be something else. But to face the moon with that worry…"

"I know."

They sounded almost as broken as Remus felt.

It was oddly comforting, really. The blatant proof that _they_ , at least, did care.

And then Madam Pomfrey said it. The first one to put it into words. "He could _die_ , Minerva." She might have been crying, he wasn't sure. "This moon – I'm scared, I – _he might die_ …"  
It was out in the open, now. At least that was some comfort, to have the thought voiced by someone else.

He could hear a scrape against the stone floor as someone pushed back their chair and stood.  
"Is there really _nothing_ we can do?! Surely you, or Dumbledore… some potion, or spell, or –"

"We've all looked, you _know_ there's nothing. There's nothing we can do." They were all tired, now. "All we can do is wait, Minerva. Wait, and hope."

Remus turned the corner at the end of the hall, and their voices died, just like all the world.

* * *

When he entered the dormitory, his friends were in a huddle, yet again.

At his appearance, they jerked apart, and he could _taste_ their guilt. Their discomfort.

It was all just too much.

"No, don't stop on my account." He couldn't even look at them, and his voice sounded incredibly distant. "I'm off to the library – to study." He wasn't really – he just needed to leave – but he'd been lying so much it was automatic now.

"We can come with –" Sirius sounded eager, but he also sounded desperate. How badly they must want him gone.

"No, don't bother. It's quite alright. Wouldn't want to be an inconvenience."

And he couldn't hear his own words because the wolf was screaming in his mind.

He turned and walked away again, and thought it was probably a good thing he was so used to leaving.

* * *

And even with his enhanced senses, Remus couldn't see through doors, or out of the back of his head.

So he missed seeing James flinch at his words, and seeing Peter slump down in his chair.  
And he didn't see Sirius stare, miserably, after him, or hear him say, "He hates us."

He didn't know of the conversation that followed either, which took place between two of the boys, who said:

"He doesn't."

"But he thinks we hate him."

"…He might. But we can't exactly tell him what we're doing, and as soon as we figure it out…"

"Right. Because we've been having _fantastic_ luck with that."

"Sirius…"

"I know. Come on, let's keep looking."

All of this was said, but Remus missed it all.

All he saw were three guilty faces, and all he heard were Madam Pomfrey's words.

" _There's nothing we can do…"_

* * *

Two day later, on a cold Thursday morning, Remus prepared to leave for the Hospital Wing.

He packed his bag like normal and spouted this month's lie ("My aunt died. A different one. There's a funeral.") and tried to ignore the tension in the room.

(Though that was hard, when no one was laughing, and no one was teasing, and James wasn't tossing a snitch through the air.)

Once he was ready, he scanned the room with grim finality.

There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't see it again.

He had heard the fear in Madam Pomfrey's voice, and the sorrow in McGonagall's, and he was many things, but he wasn't naïve.

He couldn't afford to be.

He was going to die.

He stood by the door, and looked at the three friends he'd never thought he could deserve, for what he supposed was the last time.

Perhaps he should say something.

He thought he should say something.

But what could he say?

How could he say goodbye, and still maintain the story?

How could he explain why he wouldn't be back, without ensuring they would wish for no other outcome?

Better just to go, and allow himself to fade without completely ruining the only good thing he'd ever managed to have.

So he settled for, "This trip is – it's for the best. For everyone, really. After… we'll all be better off. Really. This is – it's good."

And before they could respond, or ask what he'd meant, or do anything at all, he was walking out the door, and hearing its thud as it fell shut.

Leaving, yet again.

He wouldn't have to do it much more.

" _There's nothing we can do…"_

And there truly was nothing to be done.

Except to wait.

And to hope.

* * *

 **Hahahahaha I'm very evil.  
Honestly I'm being so mean to Remus it's kind of killing my soul.  
Do I even still have a soul?**

 **Anyway, this chapter did take a bit longer to get out, but that's mainly because ... I've wrote the chapter after this one first.**

 **Yep, that's right, the next chapter is already finished!**  
 **But I'm not posting it until tomorrow (though a copious amount of reviews on this chapter may encourage me to hit upload before that...)**  
 **Because I'm evil.**  
 **We've already addressed this XD**  
 **In all seriousness, though, it is written. I normally write chapters in order, but it demanded to be written, and I knew this one wouldn't get done until I'd gotten the next out of the way.**  
 **I've also already written parts of the chapter after that... which may or may not be the last chapter.**  
 **Maybe.**  
 **I honestly don't know; it really all depends on if I think it's too long to just be one chapter, and there will definitely be an epilogue (which may or may not also be already written).**  
 **But either way, we are nearing the end! Which is kind of crazy!**  
 **Thanks so much to everyone that's been reading and following this story; it probably would never get finished without your support.**  
 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you're excited for the next!**  
 **As always, please leave feedback, and thanks again for reading!**


	12. Of Sirius and Stars

**Ch. 12: Of Sirius and Stars**

 **Thank you so much for all the feedback left on the last chapter! I love hearing from you, and I hope you all enjoy this one!**

* * *

Sirius tried to sleep; he really did – he tucked himself underneath crimson blankets and shut his eyes and willed himself to fade away –

Only the second he let his eyelids fall, he was confronted with visions of Remus, standing in the doorway that morning, looking through them like he was already gone, like they were inhabiting a memory he was desperate to forget.

Of his words, just before he turned his back on them and let the door slam shut… " _This trip is – it's for the best. For everyone, really. After… we'll all be better off. Really. This is – it's good_."

The words echoed through him, just as they had every minute that day.

He'd drifted through classes, snapping at everything and paying attention to nothing except the memory of Remus.

His voice had been steady, but only in the way the ocean is on the occasions when no waves disturb its peace. The surface is calm… but underneath lie depths unknown that threaten to burst up at any second and drag you below.

And there had been a significance to his words… a deadly certainty… Sirius had never believed Remus was visiting an ailing mother, but if he ever had, the sickly insinuation spiraling through his words would have been more than enough to convince him that hadn't been what he was talking about.

Remus had meant something – and God if it didn't petrify Sirius, whatever it was.

But even the memory of his stance, and his voice, did not keep Sirius awake as much as the recollection of Remus' eyes did.

His eyes.

The look in Remus' eyes that morning would haunt Sirius until the day his final breath sputtered to a halt in weary lungs.

To Sirius, Remus' eyes had always been fire.

Amber colored flames, dancing and sparking and flaring in turn.

It had always seemed so right – that Remus' eyes would reflect that unseen part of him, that elusive energy that rarely revealed its existence; but that lingered, like glowing coals, just underneath his skin.

That his eyes would reveal what Remus never would.

If that was true – if Remus' eyes were flame made pigment, energy transformed – then in that hour, the fire had been stifled and left to suffocate, desperately searching for oxygen that had fled far and fast.

They had been doused, and the flames had surrendered themselves to ash that had drifted down and pooled into dark bruises just beneath Remus' dull, drained, dead eyes.

Because that's how they had looked – how Remus had looked.

Dead on his feet.

And fading fast.

And never to be seen again.

Sirius did not try to sleep for long.

* * *

Sirius loved looking at the stars.

He had never been able to tell why – he'd have thought he would hate it; would hate the pretension of his God-awful family, that named their children and themselves after the heavens, like they had any claim to them.

And there had been a time when he had – when he looked up at the lights twinkling in the skies and spared them only a scowl, only a glare packed with resentment and rage – but that time was gone, now.

Perhaps it was just that the sky was so much wider, so much brighter, so much _more_ at Hogwarts.

From inside Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, everything had seemed so dark – as if the poison within was seeping out of the bricks and wood that could not contain it.

Nothing could be beautiful when viewed from inside that house.

Nothing could be worthy of renown.

But from the Astronomy Tower's highest point, where Sirius had gone to for refuge from his mind, one could not help but marvel at the sky – at the galaxies and planets and stars, twinkling and dancing upon the canvas of the universe, and all that it encompassed.

At the moon, full and round and glowing as it governed the silence of the night.

In the distance, that silence was split by a howl, and Sirius let his focus be drawn to the noise, piercing and singular and alone.

And then it was gone, and the world was still once more.

And empty.

And ready to be filled.

And Sirius did fill it, with the visions and memories that plagued him, and that he could not ever shake.

The night sky was his pensieve, and he poured himself into it.

And he found Remus, lingering in every corner and refusing to be solved.

Sirius could see all of it –

Remus that morning, a breathing corpse.

Remus a few weeks ago, curled into himself and coughing up blood.

Remus before even that, snarling at Sirius and telling him not to ask.

And he could see the absence of Remus too – could feel every minute he'd disappeared resonating within him and driving him to madness.

Sirius huffed and drew James' Invisibility Cloak closer around him.  
He had nicked it from James' chest purely so he could get up to the Astronomy Tower balcony unnoticed, but he was glad now for its warmth.

Especially since he himself felt colder than all the world.

He groaned again and let his head fall back onto the pillar that he sat leaning against.

 _Merlin,_ no wonder he hadn't been able to sleep – not when he couldn't even go one second without thoughts of Remus making their way to knock at his mind's door once again and demand to be let in.

 _If only they'd been able to figure out what he was hiding…_

But it had been over a month now, since he had plotted in a corner of the Common Room with James and Peter, and resolved to _know_ , and _promised_ to fix it.

But he had failed.

Because Remus had vanished twice since then, and the three of them were hurting him by trying to help, and for all their charts, and notes, and discussions, and promises, they had found nothing.

Nothing.

And Remus was fading and slipping away.

Sirius squeezed his eyes tight against the tears that were desperate to break free – desperate to run away from him, just like everything else.

When he opened them again, his vision was blurry, and it took several vicious wipes at his lashes before the world became clear once again.

When it was, Sirius was greeted by the moon.

It looked cold, and he wondered if it could be lonely.

Then he scoffed at his own foolishness – here he was, concerned for a hunk of rock. He sounded like James.

"Well, my darling Moon? Are you lonely? Would you like me to come visit you? Shall I go meet you in the sky?"

He was half-shouting, and his voice was horse, and his words were punctuated by giddy laughs that dissolved into sobs, and there he was, laughing and crying in the moonlight.

Would Remus have laughed at him, if he'd been there?

Or would he have held Sirius as he cried, and told him it would be okay?

Maybe he would have screamed at the moon, too.

But it didn't matter.

If Remus was there, Sirius wouldn't have been crying.

For a second, he let himself imagine it.

He pictured himself, sitting in the astronomy tower, but with Remus by his side.

The Invisibility Cloak would be forgotten in a corner – he and Remus would huddle close together, and they could keep each other warm.

He would be laughing, and Remus would be smiling, and they would conjure up pebbles to throw into the Black Lake below.

Their feet would dangle over the sides of the castle, and he could point out his namesake and tell Remus how he was named after the brightest star in the night sky.

Maybe he would tell Remus he was Sirius' brightest star.

And Remus would blush, and duck his head, and some strands of hair would fall to hide his eyes.

And Sirius could reach out a hand, pale in the moonlight that wouldn't feel as cold if Remus was there.

He could brush the hair out of Remus' face, and stare at the moon, reflected in his firs-eyes.

For a second, he let himself imagine what Remus would look like, illuminated by the moonlight that was softer and paler than the sun.

And then he froze.

Because he couldn't picture it.

Because he had never seen it before.

And the cold was back and it was flooding him like a sea.

And he was staring at the full moon, and the tear-tracks tracing lines down his skin were drying up, because the new horror in him did not lend itself to crying.

And his mind was snatching back every memory it had thrown to the night sky – and the pieces were rearranging themselves into a picture Sirius was desperate and terrified to see.

It wasn't that he hadn't ever seen Remus in the moonlight – the Marauders were always sneaking out onto the grounds at night, or staying up to hatch devious plots with the moon as their only lamp – but Sirius loved looking at the stars, and he loved looking at the moon, especially when it was full – and he looked at Remus with a frequency that scared even him – and it was dawning on him now, in the absence of the dawn, that he'd never seen one in the company of the other.

And then he was remembering midnight astronomy classes from a few months ago, when the Gryffindor second-years had trudged up the stairs to this very tower, and had looked through telescopes at the night sky and charted the phases of the moon.

Remus had been there for every lesson – except the one where they observed the full moon.

"My aunt died – I've got to go back for her funeral."

That had been his excuse.

Sirius remembered, because they had charted it, James and Peter and him – when they were tracking Remus' disappearances, they had written it down.

And that night, when Remus had missed the lesson, and Sirius hadn't enjoyed looking at the sky as much as he normally did, the class had been distracted by a howl.

Just like the one Sirius had heard a few minutes ago –

And just like the one that was tearing and ripping and _screaming_ across the grounds now, racing from God-knew-where to collide with Sirius' very soul.

They had heard something similar that night.  
And Peter, of all people, had shuddered and stuttered and said, "Wha- what do you think that could be?"

And James – _James –_ with a grin playing on his features and a twinkle in his eye, had responded with, "Why, Pete! Can't you see the full moon? Don't you know _werewolves_ live in the Forest?"

And James had cackled at his own cleverness.

And Peter had paled, but let out a breathy laugh all the same.

And Evans had shot them a glare.

And Sirius had laughed.

He had _laughed_.

He wasn't laughing now.

 _God,_ he wasn't laughing now.

But the moon was laughing.

And the stars were crying.

And _something_ was _screaming._

And Remus wasn't there.

He wasn't there.

He wasn't –

Something swelled within Sirius, and it was roiling and wicked and –

He emptied his insides off the side of the tower.

The disappearances.

The bruises.

The cuts.

The scars.

The flimsy lies and the desperate looks.

The pain.

McGonagall's words came back to Sirius, as though across a void.

"…unexpectedly detained… strongly urge you not to pursue this… secrets he would _prefer to keep…_ you are toying with a life… there are lines that, once crossed, cannot be restored."

And most of all – " _Be careful. For Mr. Lupin's sake_ "

Sirius was crying again.

The tears were fire to his ice.

" _Don't you know werewolves live in the Forest?"_

Werewolves in the Forest – and Monsters behind every pair of eyes.

* * *

Sirius did not return to the Gryffindor dormitories for a long time.

He would, eventually.

When the Moon was sinking down to touch the Earth, and the Sun was stretching its rays to greet the frozen day.

He would stand, remnants of tears still lingering on frozen cheeks.

He would walk, numb, the Invisibility Cloak half-forgotten and barely wrapped around him, and the Fat Lady would startle at the sight of him and swing open, too horror-struck to bother with passwords.

He would open the door to his dormitory, and would find James and Peter already awake.

He would ignore how they gasped at the sight of him – would ignore James' demands for explanations, would push past Peter on his way to the chest in the corner that James had written _Project Jily_ on in a stubborn fit.

He would pull out the parchment they had recorded all Remus' disappearances on – and then he would ruffle through his own chest, in a daze, until he found the Astronomy chart he'd made those few months ago.

He would kneel by the chest and compare the two without a word – and he would feel the numbness in him spread as his suspicions were etched into certainty, and every puzzle piece fell firmly into place.

He would choke out a low, bitter laugh – because hadn't he wanted to know? Hadn't he done everything to learn?  
And now he had.

Now he did.

And a few more tears would fall like acid rain before he could squeeze his eyes tight enough to trap them inside.

He would stand, and turn, and walk to his bed, which he would fall upon, his face buried into pillows and his hands tucked into fists – but before he collapsed, he would shove the papers into James' hands.

He would hear the questions – "What – _Sirius,_ what amI supposed to do with your Astronomy homework?! _What is going on?"_ – until James looked, _really_ looked, at what he was holding.

He would hear the silence that spread like mold.

And he would hear the shaking breaths that shattered it like glass.

He would hear James' low oaths – "Oh _Merlin, Oh God –"_ and Peter's frightened squeaks – "James? Sirius? What's – this can't – you don't mean…"

James would ask, "Are you sure?"

And Sirius, face still buried in feather pillows, mind still imagining far too much (Like where Remus was _right now_ , and _what was happening to him,_ and _why hadn't he know, why had he let him face this alone)_ , would nod.

James would curse.

And Peter would squeak.

And they would all _know,_ and none of them would go to class that day.

And Sirius would imagine, and hate all the world.

He would do all of this, in due time – but not now.

Now, he sat beneath the stars and listened to screams in the wind – screams heavy with the weight of moonlight, and secrets.

* * *

 **THEY KNOW! FINALLY!  
We don't have much left now, which is very odd for me. I'm normally terrible at finishing things.**

 **I'm actually really very happy with this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed it as well.  
Thanks so much for reading, and please leave feedback! Let me know what you think!**


	13. Of Remus and Revelations

**Ch. 13: Of Remus and Revelations**

 **Note; This story is now ALSO being cross-posted on Wattpad.** **  
** **Thank you so much for all the feedback I received on the last chapter!** **  
** **Your encouragement is constantly surprising me, and it warms my heart.** **  
** **I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Remus walked through empty hallways, and the echoes of his footsteps were the only sounds to be heard.

When the castle was like this – when every student was tucked away in classes, and not even ghosts crossed his path – it was hard for him to believe he was actually there.

Only the mutters and stares of the portraits on the walls surrounding him and the fractured beating of his heart convinced Remus that he was awake.  
That he was alive.

And wasn't that a shock indeed.

* * *

He had woken up in the Hospital Wing, like he had so often before, to the sight of Madam Pomfrey hovering over him.

In many ways, it was the same as any other aftermath of a full moon; Madam Pomfrey wore the same concern as always (though it got worse every time), he was in the usual room, and he was in the usual bed.

Except there were three noticeable differences.

The first two were people, and it took him a moment to notice them. This time, waking was like deposition – like he was a cloud collapsing into ice, without a step in between. It left him groggy, and disoriented, and raw, and so he did not immediately realize the other presences in the room. It wasn't until Madam Pomfrey moved out of his direct line of sight (whilst saying something to him that was lost in the space in between) that his eyes could land on the two people standing close to the far wall.

Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were half-turned in his direction. They seemed to have been engaged in a discussion that his return to consciousness had interrupted, and where the former appeared anxious, the latter seemed only to be full of some deep remorse.

The third difference, he could not place. Not at first. It hung there, in the air around him, and seemed to whisper that something was _wrong_. Only he couldn't tell what it was.

"Remus?"

His own name sounded unfamiliar, and he had to blink several times against the lingering strangeness.

He was both groggy and alert at once, his mind clouded with a thick fog while his senses were guitar strings, pulled taut and thrumming at the slightest touch.

"Remus."

He did not know who was speaking; the voice was the embodiment of Urgency, and the speaker was merely a vessel channeling it's spirit.

"Remus!"

He was sweating and dizzy and the room was far too bright, and in a second he was keeling over the side of the bed and vomiting into the bucket that always sat there.

It cleaned itself as he fell back onto the usual stacked pillows, and he was sweating and panting and focusing was taking far too much effort, and the room was going, going, gone, and he faded into the darkness to the sound of someone shouting his name.

When he woke again, nothing had changed.

The same three faces were standing above him, and he still felt the wrongness that he couldn't quite name.

But it was less consuming now, and he forced his eyes to lock onto Pomfrey's.

"I – I think I'm alright now," he said, before he remembered the last time he had woken up in this room, and the pain that had made him mute, and the fact that he shouldn't have been able to speak right now.

The realization began to seep into his mind as Madam Pomfrey, who had seen his confusion, began to speak.

"Your voice should be fine now – I gave you quite a bit of potion; should have taken care of it."

And since speaking hadn't hurt him, he assumed she must be right, and he did it again.

"What day is it?"

Pomfrey, McGonagall, and Dumbledore all exchanged a heavy glance before the healer answered him.

"Friday. Lunch just ended; You haven't been out too long – you were unconscious in the Shrieking Shack this morning, so I brought you straight here..."

She was rambling, the majority of her words unnecessary, but he wasn't listening anyway.

Once she told him it was Friday, his mind had been processing too much to spare attention to noise.

Friday.

This was wrong.

This was v _ery_ wrong, because that was impossible. How could it be otherwise – when Remus had walked down the secret passageway with every intention of never coming out?

The wolf was made more violent by his stress, by his anxiety and turmoil, and he had never gone into a full moon as screwed up as he had last night, even after a full day of healing.

So then how could it be that, as broken as he had been, the full moon had been so easy that he was already waking up, after only a handful of hours?

And here the third difference made itself known.

Remus had never felt anything but pain after a night as the wolf – so perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to realize that he was in no pain at all.

None whatsoever.

He felt perfectly fine.

And that was _wrong._

He felt _too_ fine, too numb, too devoid of pain.

" _I gave you quite a bit of potion…"_

And from the worry on his professors' faces, he didn't doubt that she had.

In fact, Remus didn't doubt that Madam Pomfrey had given him enough potion to make him feel nothing, ever again.

There was a limit to the good potions could do, after all, and the human body (or the werewolf one) could only hold so much magic without crumbling at the seams.

Suddenly his disorientation, the odd feeling that he was both immensely heavy and completely weightless, the painful lack of pain, all made sense.

He could feel it running through him; could taste it coating his mouth and could _hear_ it in the staccato of his heart.

Remus knew enough of healing magic to know the amount in him was far past safe, and right in the middle of deadly.

How bad must he have been then – for Madam Pomfrey to risk this?

And he knew the answer, didn't he?

He must have been so bad that he could have died from the potion, but he _would_ have died without it.

A choice between two deaths, and she had made it.

His three observers were still staring at him, and the silence was profound.

Dumbledore broke it.

"Minerva, Poppy, may I speak to Mr. Lupin alone, please?"

McGonagall seemed not to object to the request, citing a class she had to teach soon, but Pomfrey was not of like mind.

"Albus! Remus is _not well_ , he needs supervision – "

"And if anything happens, you will be just outside. Please, Poppy."

There was more, but Remus was still reeling from the lingering influence of potion and the confusion of his own thoughts.

When his focus returned to him once more, only he and Dumbledore remained, and the headmaster was still shrouded in that same distant sorrow.

And then Remus was struck with suspicion, because whatever Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about couldn't be good, and he raised his defenses without even realizing it.

"How are you feeling, Remus?"  
"Fine." The pain in his throat was gone, but his muscles felt dense and alien. "Better than normal." How odd that he didn't know if that was a lie.

"I'm sure you've realized the full extent of your injuries last night."

He answered with a yes, and neither of them needed to clarify.

"Remus – if there is something upsetting you – "

"No."

The Headmaster looked worn, and old, and Remus knew he didn't believe him, but he didn't care.

"Remus… if you continue as you have been, you will die. Either from your actual injuries, or from too much exposure to healing potions, or from something else – but you _will die._ "

And Remus said nothing. Because no matter what he said, Dumbledore wouldn't understand, and no words would communicate to him that it _didn't matter._

Dumbledore, who was hopeful enough to see nothing wrong with allowing a werewolf a chance at a life, would never realize that Remus had been willing to die last night.

He had been _supposed_ to die, and the world would have been better off, and every breath he now took was stolen from the world.

And Remus would never admit the terror that plagued him – the terror of discovery – when he would rather die here than go back home, to tears and silence and alcohol staining the air.

And loneliness.

Not that he wasn't lonely here – but here there was hope, even if it was cut with fear.

"We only want to help you, Remus."

 _You can't._

And rage was boiling inside him, because Dumbledore would never understand this, and he would never comprehend Remus, and he would go on promising assistance when Remus would have been better off if Dumbledore had never allowed him to learn what it meant to have friends in the first place, and never exposed him to the misery of losing them.

He would never have had the joy of knowing them, either. Or the freedom of escaping from his reality, for just a short time.

But he would never have known the loss, and the loss was what was going to destroy him.

That cynical, dark, knotted part of him wondered if perhaps Dumbledore had always wanted this.

Had never thought he was worth a chance at all.

"Remus?"  
He had never responded, and now concern was growing to tangle with the remorse.

"Sorry, I was… You've done plenty, Headmaster. May I go back to my dormitory, now?"

Because if he had been preserved until the next full moon, he didn't want to spend the interim in a hospital bed.

Dumbledore seemed about to protest, but perhaps Remus' expression changed his mind, because the fight drained out of him and left the older man seeming horribly resigned, and all the more miserable for it.

"I'll speak with Madam Pomfrey."

He stood and crossed to the door, and before he left, he uttered four more words.

"Don't abandon hope, Remus."

And then he was gone, and Remus was left with tear-stained eyes that could have been wet from rage or from desolation.

* * *

He assumed Madam Pomfrey had protested, but she had apparently given in, because after a minute or so she had returned and said he was free to go, with reluctance plain in the twist of her mouth and the furrow of her brow.

After issuing the commands that Remus return _immediately_ if he felt odd in _any way_ and that he was to come see her after dinner, he was allowed to walk out of the Hospital Wing on two dazed legs.

And then he was stumbling through corridors, desperate for his bed, and trying to stop himself from wondering if his friends would be upset that he had returned so soon.

* * *

Remus muttered the password to the Fat Lady, and climbed through the portrait hole with limbs that still felt alien in how _painless_ they were.

Dark humor rippled through him as he pondered how screwed up you had to be for pain to feel _normal._ For relief to feel numb.

He was so distracted that he didn't even notice the Common Room wasn't empty. He'd assumed it would be – everyone should have been in class – and hadn't bothered to consider the alternative.

So it wasn't until he was about to climb the stairs to where his bed was waiting for him that he sensed them.

His senses, especially enhanced after the full moon, detected the scent of them on the air, the warmth of them in the room – and _of course_ it would be them.

When he was weary and spent, and far too weak to maintain his defenses.

Of course they would be there.

Slowly, with the expectation of phantom aches that failed to rip through him and left him disoriented in their absence, he turned to face them.

And he looked straight at his friends, and could taste the change in them like burnt chocolate.

* * *

James had suggested going down to the Common Room.

After it had become clear that none of them intended to attend lessons, and after Peter had made a quick run to the kitchens for enough food to last several days – Peter having been the only one able to, as Sirius had still been mostly catatonic, and James had been far too concerned with keeping an eye on Sirius and making sure he didn't do something incredibly stupid – they had spent some time holed up in their room, until Sirius abandoned numbness for passion and began to pace the room, caught between anger and torment and hate.

Anger on behalf of his friend, that swelled within him and begged to explode – anger at himself for not realizing sooner – anger at the fact that Remus hadn't ever realized he could _tell them_ – anger, again at his own inadequacy, that he hadn't done enough to prove to Remus that he could have been trusted.

Hatred, for a world that had made Remus a villain, and that had forced him to be alone.

Torment, because Remus had been suffering, _alone,_ this whole time – suffering _so much more_ than Sirius could ever had imagined. He had spent quite a bit of time that morning staring at the section on Werewolves in their Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook – it had been brief, but even the sparse few paragraphs had been enough to tell Sirius that the transformation would be painful. Violent. _Excruciating._ And since he hadn't spared a second's thought to the idea that Remus would _hunt_ during the full moon – because _honestly_ , they were talking about _Remus_ , and Remus would do _anything_ to avoid hurting someone – there was no doubt in his mind what _exactly_ had given Remus those scars.

" _A werewolf, when prevented access to prey, will not hesitate to maul itself, in blind aggression."_

That's how the book had put it. Sirius was more than able to connect every dot.

Everything was making such horrific sense now. Every wince, every lie, every story, and every unreadable look.

It was like Remus had been a journal written in code, and someone had shown Sirius the key to crack it.

Now every question could be answered, and none of the answers were good.

But Remus hadn't answered any of them himself. James had been filled with righteous indignation at the fact – "Well, he couldn't have thought we'd judge him for it! It's not even his fault! Why would we blame him!"- and of course he'd been right. None of them blamed him, or resented him, or hated him; even Peter, who had expressed fright at every past mention of _werewolves_ , didn't fear Remus. And yes, maybe at first he'd gone a bit pale, and had needed to sit down, but the moment James turned to him with a wary, "Pete…" he'd looked him in the eye and said, with a voice stronger than Sirius would have given him credit for, "It doesn't change anything."

Because it didn't.

Because he was _Remus!_

But James didn't understand.

Sirius – who had grown up in a house of bigots – whose father had openly supported bills to suppress lycanthropes – whose mother had more than once gone on long, loud rants about how, "They aren't even _human_. If the ministry wasn't so full of those weak _half breed lovers_ – they should be _put down_ , like the _dogs_ they are." – Sirius understood.

And it made him sick.

Because when even the damn textbook referred to werewolves as "uncontrollable, bloodthirsty _animals.._." – no wonder Remus hadn't told them.

But _Merlin_ , Sirius wished he had.

Once James had gotten sick of Sirius' incessant pacing, he'd made the suggestion.

Maybe the Common Room would be good – give them a change of scenery.

(Maybe the Common Room, with its openness and space, wouldn't feel bent on suffocating them all.)

So they'd gone, and some more time had passed, and eventually passion fell to defeat.

Defeat, and weariness so strong Sirius could do little more than collapse onto a chair and groan.

Only then had they _really_ talked.

James had begun it, and for that Sirius was grateful. He wouldn't have been able to.

"So we agree it doesn't matter."

Peter nodded, but Sirius shot James a glare – because how could anything else be true.

With a roll of his eyes, James sighed. "Just getting it out of the way, Sirius. The sooner we've established that we don't care, the sooner we can get to the important part."

"Of course it doesn't matter," he bit out. "It's _Remus._ "

He kept coming back to that. The blatant truth of it was soothing, he supposed.

 _It's Remus_.

When that was true, what else could matter?

"Yeah." They were quiet for a bit. Then, " _Merlin_." James ran a hand through his hair. "It just hit me – _the scars_."

Sirius, who had registered this fact almost immediately after he _realized_ , didn't react, except to flinch at the reminder.

Peter shuddered, involuntarily it seemed.

"I can't wrap my mind around it," James said. His voice sounded like a confession.

"Me either," added Peter. He was still pale, and his voice was quiet, but it was steady. He was trying to be strong.

"I can." Bitterness coated his mouth and bled into the air. "I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it."

When James spoke, his voice was soft.

"Yeah. I suppose it does."

They sat a while longer, their thoughts occupying the same twisted room.

Then James repeated what _he_ kept coming back to; "Why didn't he tell us? I mean, really – did he _really_ not trust us?"

And now there was something akin to hurt tangled up in James' voice, and Sirius was torn between understanding and irritation that James could possibly think his feelings were what mattered right now – though that was probably uncalled for. James was coming from a good place (James _always did),_ so he didn't push it. Instead, he sighed.

"You don't get it, James. Your family… I don't think your parents could be bigoted if they _tried._ But that's… that's rare. And werewolves…" He swallowed hard. "Jamie… you're not thinking about how this looks to Remus. You're a pure blood. As am I," and the words were poison on his tongue. "And Pete's half-and-half, and we've all grown up at least partly in the wizarding world, and – the wizarding world isn't kind to werewolves. I mean, honestly, are you _honestly_ telling me you can't understand where he's coming from? – And I'm _honestly_ not _trying_ to pick a fight, but… you _know_ the laws, James. And you've _got_ to know how most wizards are about werewolves; how they're viewed. I suspect he's only _here_ because Dumbledore's not exactly normal, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Ministry doesn't even know! You're upset that Remus didn't trust us? James – he probably doesn't trust _anyone_!"

What he was saying was true, and Sirius _hated_ it.

As he spoke, the weariness that had been sludging through his veins gave way once more to rage.

By the middle, he was shaking, and soon after that he was jumping up from his chair to pace.

Mere moments after his words had drained out of him, and they were all allowed to go stagnant in the air, he was kicking at one of the low tables that sat nearby, and at the chairs that surrounded it, and when he was done, the table was toppled over and a chair leg had been bent out of place.

If Remus had been there, he would have given Sirius an exasperated, long-suffering glance before resuming whatever book he'd been reading.

The image _hurt._

His energy spent, he collapsed back into his chair.

Peter spoke then.

"Sirius is right."

And James sighed, ruffled his hair, and said, "I know." And when he seemed to think that hadn't been enough, he continued. "It's not that I don't get _why_ he didn't tell us, it's just – I wish he had anyway. Maybe it's dumb."

"It's not." Sirius had to say it, because hadn't he been wishing the same thing?

The two traded a look, and they didn't need to say anything else. They understood.

And there were bigger things to deal with.

"So," James began, as he sat up in his chair. "Do we tell him we know?"

"Yes." Sirius didn't hesitate. Sure, he could have argued that Remus hadn't wanted them to know, and that might have been true – but he only hadn't wanted to tell them because he hadn't trusted them. The thought stung, but there it was, and denying it was pointless. He hadn't. Which was why they _had_ to tell him. Because once he knew they knew – once he knew they didn't care – then he'd see that they were his friends. No matter what. And he could trust them. With anything.

He told the others as much, and neither disagreed, and the matter was settled.

They'd tell him.

And then he wouldn't have to be alone anymore, and the fire in his eyes could come back to life.

As soon as he was back, they'd tell him.

And then it hit him – Remus' words yesterday morning - " _This trip is – it's for the best. For everyone, really. After… we'll all be better off. Really. This is – it's good_."

Sirius hadn't known what he'd meant; hadn't understood, but now…

How could Remus leaving for a full moon make them all _better off_? – Was he _mad?_

Or… or maybe…

What if he hadn't meant to come back?

But Remus _couldn't_ think – he couldn't _honestly_ think – maybe he didn't trust them with the secret, but… did he honestly think they'd be _happier_ if he… if he _died?_

"Sirius?" Panic was creeping into the corners of James' voice. "What are you thinking?"

He couldn't say it.

How could he _think_ it?

How could _Remus_ have thought it?  
He couldn't force out the words – but he had to. If he was right… he had to tell them.

And so, with horror-struck eyes, he looked his brother in the eyes and said, "Remus… I think he might not come back."

There was time for James' hazel eyes to widen in shock, and then no more.

Because then the portrait-hole opened.

And Remus walked in.

And when Remus turned around to face them from his place by the stairs, and he didn't even seem to have a _scratch_ on him, but he still seemed _far_ from alright, Sirius' insides were tossing with relief, and confusion, and horror, and anger, and so much else.

He didn't know _what_ the jumble of emotions was doing to his face, but he saw Remus take it in – and the boy's own face hardened when confronted with whatever it was he saw.

* * *

"Remus. You're back."

Remus couldn't read James' tone – it was as flat as ironed parchment and as opaque as ink from the Giant Squid.

And he couldn't read Sirius' face, either. But what he could see on it was in no way promising. There was horror there, and anger, and Remus thought he might throw up again.

And what were they _doing_ here?

"Yes." Where had he told them he was? He struggled to remember, and hesitated too long. "My -err – the funeral. It was – fast." It was a pathetic attempt at a lie, and he knew it, but how was he supposed to lie when the suspicion and doubt that always lurked far too close to the foreground of his mind were rearing up inside him and drowning out all rational thought, because _why were they looking at him like that._

"What – why are you here." It came out too sharp, too cold, too much. He couldn't help it, and _why were they still looking at him like that._

"Lessons. You have – lessons." He tried to fix it, but feared he'd made it worse, and _Sirius was still looking at him like that._

He was petrified.

Because he _wasn't prepared for this and something felt different this time, something felt wrong, and why were they here, they shouldn't be here, they weren't supposed to be here!_

Something sharp and quite nasty stabbed at him.

Perhaps they always did this when he was gone.

Perhaps they always skived off classes to sit in the Common Room amongst overturned tables and broken chairs, so that they could laugh and talk and treasure their time _without him._

"We didn't go." James, blunt as always and entirely unhelpful.

"Why not."

He could have phrased it better, could have done this better, but he _didn't know how_ , and then –

"You're back."

The first words Sirius had spoken since he walked through the door, and they turned him to ice.

Because he didn't know why they would be acting like this, unless… unless they knew.

But – they _couldn't._

 _Please._

He sounded like a child, even in his own mind.

He realized he'd been quiet too long.

"Yes."

And what else could he say?

When remnants of far too much potion were still dancing in his bloodstream, and he could feel pressure building behind his eyes in a tell-tale sign of half-formed tears, and there was a lump in his throat that made him wonder if his vocal cords had split open once again.

What more could he do?

"What you said, when you left… I thought you might not. Come back."

And there was nothing inside him at all.

"I see. Well – I did."

And what more was there to say?

And what more was there to lose?

Only ever everything.

And when had he even had that?

* * *

Sirius didn't know what he was saying.

Everything he had judged James for, for giving his own feelings any weight right now, for not understanding why Remus had doubted them – all that had flown out the window like a frightened owl when he realized that Remus hadn't meant to recover from the last full moon.

Because that _must_ have been what he'd meant.

What he had said… it couldn't have been anything else.

And, worse than that – and Sirius hated himself for thinking so, for thinking _anything_ could be worse that Remus _dying_ – but worse than that was the fact that Remus _hadn't thought they would care._

And that realization?

It made him angry, and he _didn't give a damn_ if that wasn't fair, or wasn't right – Remus thought he was going to die, and he hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

He had thought – what, that he would just vanish, and the three of them would say, "Oh, alright then," and go on just the same?  
Would anyone even have _told_ them? Or would it just have been, "Mr. Lupin is perfectly alright, he just won't be returning to Hogwarts for the foreseeable future."

Probably the latter, and _Merlin_ that wasn't okay.

Because _they had been better friends than that; they_ _deserved_ _more than that,_ and Remus was a tosser if he couldn't see that much.

So he was angry, and he was impossibly hurt, and he couldn't help himself from wanting to make Remus feel the same.

It was monstrous, and it was wrong.

But Sirius _didn't care._

"Why."

The look James shot him was murder – because this _wasn't what they were supposed to be doing._

They should have been saying, "Glad to have you back, Remus; by the way, we know where you disappear to and it's all good, no worries; want some chocolate?"

But Sirius was far too far gone.

"What – what do you mean?"

They was a shaking in Remus' voice, and he was going quite pale, and his eyes were still doused, but there was fear in them now, plain and obvious.

 _Stop this_ , Sirius begged his own self, but he did not listen.

"Why did you act like you weren't going to come back."

Remus' eyes were darting about the room now, and seemed to be pleading, and James and Peter were lurking on the edges of the world and seemed desperate to intervene but hesitant to all the same.

"I – I just – I don't know what you mean –"

He didn't have an answer, and Sirius could only imagine what Remus was thinking right now, but he couldn't keep himself from pushing.

"Why wouldn't you have come back, Remus?"

"I – my mother –"

And Sirius' responding laugh was a harsh bark that effectively stopped Remus from saying anything else. Which was good, because Sirius was now more than confident that Remus' mother was in nothing but perfect health, and he was not going to take kindly to more lies.

"Oh yes, your sick mother! Except, and correct me if I'm wrong, you weren't going to visit your mother this time! This time, it was, what, a dead aunt? You know, I think that makes nine dead aunts in the time we've known you, Remus. Do deadly diseases run in your family? Should we be concerned?"

"Sirius –" James was trying again, and there was warning running rampant in his tone, but Sirius _couldn't stop_ , even though Remus' eyes were closed against the onslaught and they were both shaking.

" _Well_ , Remus? Are there? Any diseases we should know of?" Remus swallowed, hard.

He was evil.

Perhaps it ran in his blood – filthy and pure – and perhaps he would never truly leave Grimmauld Place, and the poison of his family tree.

Remus was still now.

So still.

His eyes were open and his hands were clenched, and he wore a pathetically tiny, ironic smile and the fire in his eyes was just gone.

Remus laughed.

It was a soft, broken sound, and did nothing to distract from the tear droplets gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"You know."

Sirius had half-expected him to deny it, and even Remus seemed slightly shocked at the almost-confession.

And it should have been the end of it – should never have been begun in the first place – but the thought _he didn't even say goodbye_ kept spinning through his head and drowning out all reason, or compassion, or decency, and an almost-confession wasn't good enough.

" _What_ do we _know_."

His voice was a hiss.

Remus realized it at the same time Sirius did - He was going to make Remus say it.

And Remus did.

He took a shaking breath and his voice was distant when he spoke.  
Detached.

Dead.

Sirius hated that voice.

"You know that I'm a werewolf."

And _oh_ how his mother would be proud.

* * *

 **So basically I almost started crying when I was writing this.** **  
** **I debated a lot with myself how exactly the boys would react to their discovery, and how best to handle it. And while I'm confident they wouldn't care for a second, I also realized there was no way Sirius would just be okay with Remus thinking they wouldn't care if he died. I was unsure about the vehemence of his response to this realization, but this is the same Sirius who told Snape the secret on a spiteful whim, and who was so consumed with anger at Peter that he snapped Ron's leg and couldn't pause for two seconds to explain things to Harry.** **  
** **When he is angry, he is irrational, and he doesn't think, and he only realizes what he's done after the fact, so in the end I decided to go with my instincts, and the events of this chapter were born.** **  
** **In any case, I hope you enjoyed my take on it.** **  
** **If you did, please leave feedback! I'd love to hear your thoughts.** **  
** **Also, yes, there's a cliffhanger.** **  
** **Again, I'm evil.** **  
** ***Loud cackling*** **  
** **This was going to be the last chapter, but then it got super long and I decided to break it up.** **  
** **But, there's only one more chapter! Plus an epilogue I've already written.** **  
** **And I'll try my very best to get that chapter out to you by tomorrow.** **  
** **So unless I get carried away again, we don't have much longer to go!** **  
** **As always, thanks so much for reading, and let me know what you thought!**


	14. Of Freedom and Finality

**Ch. 14: Of Freedom and Finality**

 _No. God no. Please._ Please.

 _This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Not after everything. The_ _world couldn't be that cruel._

 _But Remus knew that was a lie._

 _The world had always been cruel to him._

 _He had been a fool to think that could ever change. To think that it ever would._

* * *

It was happening.

He'd always known it would – know he was too poor a liar, known they were too smart not to notice, known it was only a matter of time.

But _Merlin_ , he'd been a fool not to realize just how much it would destroy him.

To see Sirius, looking at him with such rage – like he was worse than Snape – to realize that he hated him now; hated him enough to want to make him say the words – Remus wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry and he wanted to run and he wanted to scream.

And it _wasn't fair_ , because Remus _wasn't evil_ , and he _didn't choose this._

But apparently, they didn't care – apparently all James' talk of equal rights and all Sirius' declarations that he was nothing like his family were just empty words.

And that _wasn't okay._

He chuckled, and it was bitter and pathetic and spiteful and raw.

"How did you figure it out?"

Sirius laughed too, and it made Remus flinch.

"Maybe we're just not _blind, Lupin_."

He nodded, just a bit.

"Fair enough," he muttered, and he couldn't look at Sirius anymore, so he turned to James.

But James was glaring at the floor and wouldn't meet his eyes, and Peter just looked terrified, and _honestly_ , it was _ridiculous_ , and maybe it was because if the potions lowering his defenses, or maybe it was the aftermath of the change, or maybe it was just Remus, but he was _angry._

And why shouldn't he be.

"If I wanted to _eat_ you, I'd have done it ages ago," he snarled, staring straight at Peter, whose eyes went wide as he squeaked.

"N-no–" the smaller boy began, but Remus wasn't listening.

"So what now," he bit out, forcing himself to look back at Sirius, who was still glaring (and maybe he was choosing anger because the alternative was frightened, shattered tears, but who could blame him for that).

The question was, of course, extraneous.

He knew what came next.

Sirius would yell, and James would keep avoiding his eyes, and Peter would continue to cower as Sirius screamed some more – and then, when they got sick of that, they'd run to a teacher, or to Dumbledore, or to the other students, and they'd condemn what he was for all the world to hear.

And that would be the end.

Students would write parents, and parents would write the Ministry, and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to vouch for him anymore.

And he'd leave.

Go home – though how could he even pretend that his home had ever been anything but the three boys before him.

They were his home, and his home hated him now, so he'd go back to a poor mimicry, made of alcohol and tears, and he'd _exist_ until the next full moon – at which time, he really would just… cease.

Far from Madam Pomfrey, and her potions, and from anyone who'd care to keep him breathing, it would finally be over.

For some reason, though he had been resigned to this mere minutes ago, it was now unbearable.

It was one thing to die and be mourned – it was entirely another to have your end be celebrated by the only things you'd ever really learned to love.

The thought of it all stoked the flame into an inferno, and when Sirius' scowl twisted and curled into a sneer, and he opened his mouth to attack, Remus decided he didn't much feel like hearing what he had to say.

So he spoke first.

" _Oh shut it_." And this seemed to take all three of them aback, for Sirius' eyes widened and his sneer fell away to surprise, and James' eyes snapped up from the ground to stare at Remus, and Peter curled into himself even more than he already had, and they all quavered in the face of Remus' fury.

"Remus –" James was personifying caution, and he was looking at Remus like he was a wild animal to be treated with caution, and Remus was _seething_."

" _What_? Are you going to tell me I'm a monster? Tell me you hate me? That I shouldn't be here? Well _save it_."

Sirius' shock was giving way to anger once again, and beneath the seas of rage Remus' heart was breaking.

"Are you _mental_? We –"

" _Mental!?_ Oh I'm not the mad one here, _Black._ " Sirius flinched at the name, and Remus knew it was a low blow, but the wisps of guilt just made him more enraged, because he why should he owe them _anything_. "Merlin, you really are just like your family, you know that? You act so _superior_ , because you're in Gryffindor, and you're above their prejudice, but how are you better?!" He was almost sure he was crying now, and Sirius seemed hurt beneath his hate and _why did he have to lose them._ "Because we were _friends, Black._ And you can deny it all you want now, but we _were_ , even if we haven't been lately, and it's _not my fault._ And you can't see that, so you're just like _them_."

A breath.

And then Sirius had had enough.

"How dare you."

His voice was low, and his eyes were glinting like daggers, and it was his turn to speak now and nothing Remus could do would stop him but hearing this from _Sirius_ was going to _devastate_ him, so he'd delay it as best he could.

"I DIDN'T GET A SAY!" And his voice broke like a child's, and he broke too. " _Please_." The word slipped out against his will and made him flinch. But it was out there now, and he had abandoned pride long ago, and he would do anything to prevent this. Prevent hearing Sirius tell him what he was.

" _Please_. I didn't want…" He was pathetic and he was a mess, and it wouldn't do any good.

Nothing would do any good.

"Please."

He couldn't look at them; his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he braced himself against the coming torment, so he sensed more than saw the moment Sirius snapped.

"You _utter_ prat."

Sirius' voice was scathing.

And then –

"The Hell do you take us for! – And what do you mean we _were_ friends?! Why wouldn't we still be?!"

The shock of it was enough to make Remus look at Sirius again.

And the boy was still fuming, and still glaring, and still angry, but this didn't make sense…

"…Because I'm a werewolf? Which is why you're angry?"

The words were hesitant, and confused, and apparently not what he should have said, because Sirius' eyes flashed and Remus the explosion came in a rush.

"THAT'S NOT WHY I'M MAD, YOU ABSOLUTE PRICK! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN IF YOURE A WEREWOLF; NONE OF US DO!"

The words were incomprehensible.

Remus' eyes darted to glance at James, whose face was set and determined, and then Peter, who was nodding frantically despite his clear anxiety, and then he looked at Sirius again, who was still glaring, and his words weren't making sense but James and Peter were acting like they did and Remus didn't understand and he was still dazed from the potions and _nothing was making sense_ and hope was swelling in his chest and it was _dangerous_ ,because it was _impossible_ , but if it wasn't…

 _If…_

"But… but you're mad. At me. Why…? What…?"

"BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO DIE, AND YOU JUST LEFT!"

And… what?

It was true, yes, but… _that_ was why Sirius was yelling?

Except he wasn't yelling anymore.

"You thought you were going to die." And now he just sounded… tired. And very, very sad.

"Didn't you? Can you honestly tell me you planned to come back?"

He was pleading, Remus understood. For some reason he didn't know, Sirius wanted Remus to tell him he was wrong – wanted him to say he'd had every intention of returning.

But they knew the secret now, and Remus didn't have it in him to lie anymore.

"I thought – Madam Pomfrey seemed to think I might."

It was like he'd slapped Sirius in the face." The boy flinched, and stumbled to sit down in a nearby chair. And Sirius wasn't the only one affected – Peter turned white and James looked hurt, and this wasn't going like Remus had thought _at all_ and he was trapped between fear and frustration and terrible, wondrous hope.

"You didn't tell us." He couldn't help but wonder why _Sirius_ was sounding like the broken one. "You barely even said goodbye. Do we honestly not warrant more than that? You thought you were going to die, and – and you just left, Remus. You just _left_."

And how was he supposed to respond to that? How could he explain, when his mind was reeling and the world was frozen and spinning at once? But he had to say something.  
"I didn't think you'd –"

"You didn't think we'd _what_? _Care_? So you thought we'd be glad if you _died_? _Jesus_ , Remus. If you think we're such bastards, why did you even hang out with us." Sirius laughed, a bit. Except the sound was bitter, and hollow, and fell oceans short of humorous.

And Remus may not have understood a thing right then, but he understood that no matter what happened, it would always break his heart to hear Sirius sound so… destroyed.

"No – I – I didn't; I don't, I just. I didn't know how to say goodbye without telling you where I was going, and I didn't want you to – to hate me." As they were supposed to. But apparently they might not? Merlin what was happening right now. "And I thought – you've already been avoiding me. For weeks. I thought you didn't want me around." The words were hurried and his breaths were rushed, and Sirius' face was crumpling into unmistakable guilt.

The three of them traded torn glances, and Remus was still standing apart from them, at the foot of the stairs, and the distance between them felt vast but _so_ _close_ to being bridged.

And all the while there was that hope in him, and it was clouding his vision as well as his mind.

 _Please._

"We were trying to – find out your secret." It was James who spoke. He seemed to have had his fill of allowing Sirius to steer the conversation off several cliffs, and he was apologetically unapologetic.

"For a little over a month." Peter was trembling and pale, but he was looking Remus straight in the eyes.

"Since that time I asked you what was going on and you ran off."

"We couldn't do that around you, so…"

"We didn't want to avoid you, but –"

All three looked guilty.

But Sirius drew himself up and took a breath, and his words were the culmination of seconds and days and months and _years_.

"We knew that you were hiding something. And we knew that – whatever it was – it didn't matter."

He was looking at Remus very gravely. He was pleading with him, almost.

 _It doesn't matter,_ was the promise that seemed engraved in every line of his face.

"So we _had_ to find out what it was, so you wouldn't be alone again."

He was begging Remus to understand. 

And, _finally,_ Remus did. 

There was a lump in his throat and his head felt light and part of him still wouldn't believe it, but he understood.

"You really – you really don't care."

He was breathless and every nerve was on edge. 

"No." 

The word was a release. 

It was freedom, and promise, and so final that even Remus, who'd learned to question everything, was struggling to refute it. 

"Not at all, Remus."

James was offering a tentative smile, and no one was protesting, and his heart was swelling and _this couldn't be real,_ and maybe he was dead, and maybe it was a hallucination brought on by the potions – except Remus would never have been able to imagine the look on Sirius' face – one of guilt, and apology, and remorse, but also of defiance, and acceptance, and truth."

"But – but I'm a _werewolf_ ," Remus couldn't help but repeat, as though they'd misunderstood.

"I'm a _monster_."

And Sirius looked at him and said, "You're Remus. You're our friend," as if that was the only thing in the world that mattered. 

In the end, what else did? 

He might have been falling or he might have been floating, but Remus felt _free_. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said, still half-in denial but unable to help his hesitant smile, which Sirius returned.

"I'm sorry I was a such prick about it." The guilt was still there, but they looked at each other and knew all was forgiven.

"Yes, yes, you're both prats, shall we move on now?" James was grinning as he said it, and suddenly Remus was too, and then they all were, and one of them started laughing and then none of them could stop.

And Remus did cry then, just a bit.

But it was alright, because the rest of them did as well.

* * *

The four of them skipped dinner, and Remus sent Madam Pomfrey a note saying he felt fine, and just wanted to get some sleep, and didn't go to her for his check-in, either.

Instead, they spent that Friday evening, and the rest of the weekend, lazing about and ignoring the rest of the world.

His friends – and Remus had to pause every so often to marvel in that fact – that they were still his _best friends_ –asked questions Remus finally wasn't scared to answer.

Some were easy ("So - you can't actually eat us... right?"), and some were harder ("So your scars..."), and some were impossible ("How'd it happen?").

He told them most things – not all (not yet) – but not a single lie crossed his lips.

They were together for every moment for those two-and-a-half days – except for a few hours, in the dead of Friday night, when Sirius disappeared without a word. Remus noticed, and spent those hours terrified he had been wrong, that it had all been an act – until Sirius returned with arms chock-full of bottled Butterbeer and Every Flavour Beans and mounds of chocolate. He'd thrown some of the sweets at James and Peters' heads, to wake them up, and there had been exclamations of irritation that were overcome by shock and awe.

"Where did you get all this?!"

"Found a secret passageway that leads to Honeydukes, down in the village," he had said, smugly nonchalant – which had prompted exasperation and incredulity from James.  
"AND YOU DIDN'T TELL US?"

"Was waiting for a special occasion." (He may or may not have looked at Remus, then.) (They both may or may not have blushed.) (And as James yelled at Sirius and made him say how he'd done it, and as they wondered if there could be any more secret passages and gorged on magical sweets, Remus nibbled on chocolate bars and felt relief and shame and trust wash over him.)

(He didn't doubt them again, after that.) 

And so it was blissful surprise to find that, when they told him, again and again, that they didn't care, he believed them.

He _really_ did. 

He smiled more that weekend than he thought he had in _years_ , and all four of them laughed.

* * *

("I would like to know, though," Remus said during one of the lulls in the conversation.

They were sitting on the banks of the Black Lake, and all the world seemed at peace.

"What's that?" asked a distracted James, who was writing Lily another ill-advised love letter.

"How _did_ you figure it out?"

"You mean how did we learn about your _furry little problem_?" Sirius tried out the code name with a grin, and Remus responded with a roll of his eyes and a grin of his own.

"I mean, I always kind of thought you might. But what exactly tipped you off?"

James furrowed his brow, and pushed his glasses back as he looked up from the card.

"I don't actually know," he mused, and looked to Peter for confirmation. "Sirius figured it out; he went out in the middle of the night – nicked my bloody cloak, too," he added on with a glare that made Sirius laugh. James flicked him with a pebble before continuing. "Anyway, he didn't come back until the morning – looking a _complete_ mess, half-covered in the cloak and looking like he'd seen – well, seen a werewolf." The last part was said with a cheeky smirk and Remus' grin only grew. "So Pete and I are asking him dozens of questions, and he isn't even looking at us, and then he shoves this list we made – one where we'd written out the dates of all your disappearances – and the phases of the moon chart we did for Astronomy at me. Didn't take very long to see which dates overlapped. But I don't actually know how Sirius figured it out."

They all looked at him with curious eyes, and Sirius just grinned and said, "Simple, Moony dear –" and he found he quite liked how that nickname sounded, too – "I'm far smarter than the rest of this lot," which provoked rather a lot of good-natured outrage on James' part, and an amused smile on Remus'.)

(It wasn't for many years – not until the rest of them had nicknames to match, and Sirius and Remus were lying together in a bed they shared, with lips still raw from kissing and fingers tangled in each other's hair – that Sirius told Remus how he'd known.)

("I couldn't picture you in the moonlight.")

(And Remus would smile, and he would understand, and he would respond with a kiss that drove thoughts of the moon quite far from both their minds.)

(But on that day, by the Black Lake, it was enough for them to laugh, and smile, and abandon fear.)

* * *

And, while it took a while, and not everything was perfect at first, Remus was more happy, and more free, than he'd ever been before. 

_God, I'm lucky._

And really, they all were.

* * *

 **OH MY GOSH IT'S OVER.**

 **WHAT.**

 **I ACTUALLY FINISHED THIS.**

 **Well, there is still the epilogue (which will be up very soon, I promise), and I'm not ruling out the possibility of adding on a few one-shots in the future... but the main story is over!**

 **This is really strange for me, as I'm normally utterly terrible at finishing things, but all the encouragement and support I received from everyone who read (but especially those who left reviews), kept me determined to finish.**

 **So thank you so, so much to all of you. I will treasure your lovely comments forever.**

 **Also, to those of you who have joined me along the way, thanks for sticking with this. I know I put Remus and you all through some pretty harsh times, and I hope the fluff in this chapter (and in the upcoming epilogue) makes up for it.**

 **And I KNOW I said this was only going to kind of hint at wolfstar, but I apparently have zero restraint and couldn't resist jamming some in there. Oh WELL!**

 **I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that I did your expectations and these characters justice.**

 **And please, let me know your thoughts!**


	15. Epilogue: Of Points and Prayers

**Epilogue: Of Points and Prayers**

 **Told you the epilogue would be up soon :D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The weekend passed, like all weekends must, and soon enough it was time for lessons again.

Transfiguration was their first class on Mondays, and for entirely trivial reasons, the boys walked into class several minutes late.

However, in an entirely uncharacteristic turn of events, McGonagall didn't dock them a single point for it. She merely took one look at Remus and waved away their explanations with a, "Yes, that's all very well; now if you will take your seats and cease disrupting my class?" that lacked any actual heat (and, some astonished students would later tell their friends, she might even have been _smiling,_ just the tiniest bit).

Later, once she had released the class for the day, Remus caught her eye as he was exiting the door.

She was sitting at her desk, and he just looked at her for a second – and then he smiled. And she took it in – saw the warmth and joy on his face that completely overpowered his usual exhaustion, saw how he looked less burdened and more his age then she'd ever seen him, saw how, for once, there was nothing forced behind his smile – and the suspicions she'd been harboring since the four boys entered her room were confirmed, and she _knew._

Then they had gone, and the door gently closed, and McGonagall looked down at her hands with a blurry vision and a tremulous smile she couldn't seem to wipe away.

She noticed she had started to cry only when a tear landed on her palm, and it startled an almost giddy laugh from her that she'd never have believed herself capable of making.

And then she couldn't stop laughing, and she sat there for a while, torn between laughter and tears and the thought that she was quite in her rights to take the rest of the day off.

When she had finally regained her composure, she brushed away the remnants of her tears, and looked back up at her classroom door with another smile.

"Sixty points to Gryffindor."

And then she stood up and exited the room.

* * *

 **I know it's short, but it's also pure fluff, so I hope you enjoyed XD**

 **I got the image of this scene stuck in my head a while ago, and just couldn't resist.**  
 **And now it really is over!**  
 **Thank you again so, so much for reading, it means the world :)**


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